


two of hearts

by doctormissy



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: (s), Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Alternate Season/Series 05, Archangels as Siblings (Good Omens), BAMF Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Background Relationships, Banter, Canon - Good Omens (Book & TV Combination), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Dealing with past trauma, Drinking, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Should Go To Therapy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fallen Angel Gabriel (Good Omens), Family Drama, Flashbacks, Hell, Humor, Light Angst, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) is Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Lux (Lucifer TV), M/M, Memory Alteration, Metaphysical Sex, Minor Violence, Moving On, Nonbinary Character, POV Multiple, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Post-Season/Series 04, Recovered Memories, Risen Demon Crowley (Good Omens), Secrets, Self-Acceptance, Sex, She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Siblings, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, The Silver City (Lucifer TV), The politics of heaven and hell, Tribe Night (Lucifer TV), Weddings, Wings, Worldbuilding, complicated sibling dynamics, crack AND serious matters, deadnaming, references to lucifer comics, the self-actualisation of celestials, the true nature of the lilim, this started out as a simple raph!crowley fic and developed Plot™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 95
Words: 216,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22636954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: Crowley winced and turned around. He squinted at the King of Hell and his two-day stubble and expensive suit and bloodyaudacity. His Hell-trained survival instincts really didn’t like this.That ancient part of him who’s known this man-shaped being since he was a hatchling filed away his escape plan for later, however.Or: Crowley and Lucifer aresiblings, and sure, they’re not exactly on speaking terms now, but that doesn’t stop Lucifer from knocking on Crowley and Aziraphale’s door on a Sunday morning, asking forhelp. Needless to say, it doesn’t go exactly as planned…[Or or: on relationships, the Throne of Hell, absolution, and the universe's most dysfunctional family—maybe—coming to senses.]
Relationships: Amenadiel & Azrael & Gabriel & Michael & Uriel, Amenadiel & Charlie Martin & Linda Martin & Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Amenadiel/Linda Martin (Lucifer TV), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub (Good Omens) & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Crowley (Good Omens) & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Comments: 2072
Kudos: 2119
Collections: Good Omens, Lucifer





	1. Sunday Morning Funtime

**Author's Note:**

> For WaveCrest, who asked for a piece exploring the sibling dynamic between Archangel!Crowley and Lucifer, in a comment on [twitter cryptids](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21607198/chapters/51521206). 
> 
> Well... my brain took book and series canon, Lucifer canon, the thing with self-actualisation, Lucifer and Amenadiel rising, Raphael!Crowley, the problem at the end of season 4, and some theorising about holy water immunity, put it all in a liquidiser, and made a vaguely plot-flavoured smoothie which is this fic. I originally meant for this to be a one-shot, but then it got out of hand. Updates are as frequent as I can manage.
> 
> As for the rating: there is some sex here, but it's not the point, just something that happens in the story. So far 4 chapters are explicit.
> 
> Enjoy!

The doorbell rang.

Crowley looked up and gave the door a frowny glance, as if it was its fault that there was somebody standing on the other side, demanding to be heard. Loudly. On a Sunday morning. But not even the current of demonic energy flowing from his eyes to the blasted doorbell dissuaded the visitor, apparently.

Crowley groaned when it rang for the third time, very impatiently at that—which was quite the feat, seeing as the doorbell could only produce the one annoying sound. He really didn’t want to leave the sofa right now.

‘Angel?’ he called in the study’s general direction. When he wasn’t in the kitchen, making tea or muffins or whatever, he’d be there.

‘Can you please answer the door, Crowley? I’m rather in the middle of something,’ Aziraphale called back, with a somewhat distressed tint to his voice.

Crowley let out a sigh and, in one swift movement that shouldn’t be possible for a human body to perform, got to his feet. He pocketed his mobile and sauntered to the door, already thinking of five or so ways to send whichever neighbour it was that wanted to invade their cottage at this unsatanly[1] hour _somewhere_.

He grabbed his sunglasses from the chest that stood next to the door, regardless of the fact that they were previously on the bedside table. They knew better than not to find themselves where he expected them to be at any given moment. Then he plastered on his best Gabriel-smile and opened the door.

‘Sorry, but whatever is it that you want—’

He shut it just as quickly.

All the blood coursing through his corporation promptly became curdled milk, and his heart decided it was time for a mild heart attack. Thank badness he didn’t actually _need_ a heart.

‘Bloody Hell, Crowley, I just want to talk!’ said the muffled voice on the other side of the door. The voice of actual _Satan_ [2]. ‘I can also simply let myself in, you know, but I think that all parties involved will be happier if I don’t. I’m trying to be civil here.’

Crowley weighed his options.

There weren’t many good ones. Either way, _someone_ will probably end up discorporated, and that was the good case scenario.

Slowly, he got his limbs to move again and carefully gave opening the door a second try. He did his best to look like a cool and very powerful demon who had survived a bath in Holy Water and bloody enjoyed it—but there was this inherent feeling that it wasn’t going well, really.

He cleared his throat. ‘My Lord.’

Lucifer flashed his teeth, white and perfect as anything, and didn’t hesitate to march right into the kitchen. He fixed his cuffs and gave Crowley, whose brain still felt like it’s just been macerated in too-fast-consumed, disgusting slushie, a _very_ obvious once-over.

He somehow managed to shut the door and make his way to the kitchen at last.

He definitely, absolutely had no fucking idea what to say. It’s been nine months since the whole Apocafiasco, he and Aziraphale had their own house far away from everything and everyone, they were finally content and getting used to freedom, and now—now— _what_?

So, really, he did about the only thing he, as a Brit by osmosis, could do: offered to make a cup of tea.

‘Give me a bit of whisky or whatever you have in mine, thank you,’ Lucifer said, and Crowley was baffled even more at this point.

And then it got worse. Aziraphale must have heard voices, or remembered the doorbell had been ringing, or both, and asked, ‘Who was it, my dear? Did you invite them in? Is it Mr Troughton again?’

‘Err, no, it’s someone else,’ Crowley called, casting a nervous glance at their guest. ‘No need to ruffle your feathers, I’ve got this. I’ll bring you tea, yeah?’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you!’

Thankfully, the angel didn’t decide to investigate further today. That was good. That was very tickety-boo. He’d get him his tea and then subtly escape through the window or something.

‘Lovely place you’ve got here,’ said Lucifer, in an oddly sweet and polite voice. ‘Now listen, Crowley—’

‘If this is about the Apocalypse, Lord, I assure you that Adam acted entirely on his own accord, we had nothing to do with it, alright, especially not Aziraphale, and know that there’s Holy Water in here,’ he pointed at the water filter jug, which was _not_ filled with Holy Water, but only he knew that, ‘and I _can_ do it all again, so don’t try any funny business, yeah? This is our house, and we earned our freedom. You’re not dragging me back. I’m not leaving him.’

The kettle began to whistle. Lucifer raised a single eyebrow, and then _laughed_. ‘Oh, no, Crowley, I haven’t come to kill you, don’t worry,’ he said with a wavy gesture. Crowley turned the cooker off and poured the water over the teabags, which suddenly decided to be the freshest Earl Grey leaves instead. He wasn’t exactly _reassured_ by that, but keep calm and carry on, eh? ‘And drop the _Lord_ business, please, brother. I… need your help.’

The kettle landed on the cooker with a screech. Crowley winced and turned around. He squinted at the King of Hell and his two-day stubble and expensive suit and bloody _audacity_. His Hell-trained survival instincts really didn’t like this.

That ancient part of him who’s known this man-shaped being since he was a hatchling filed away his escape plan for later, however.

This was insane. He was insane.

Must’ve been.

He inhaled through the nose and went to dig out a bottle of something good from the corner cabinet. ‘Fine. What do you want, Luci?’

* * *

1 Or perhaps we should say _satanly_ , because Lucifer has always been an early bird. Pun half-intended.[✿]

2 Case in point. It was just after 9 a.m.[✿]


	2. Before the Fall

Before Earth popped into existence, before time was invented, before the Almighty came up with the very idea of Thrones and Dominions and Principalities, there had been seven angels.

Much, much later, they would be known as Archangels, the Seven Princes of Heaven, highest guardians of the Silver City and caretakers of all their younger siblings[1]. But just then, they were the only occupants of Heaven besides their Mother and Father.

Amenadiel, Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Azrael, and the youngest, Samael, who was sometimes called Lucifer, the Lightbringer: those were their names. They were the Universe’s first family, and they were as close and tight as families ought to be in the minds of most. They spent their entire existence together, joined in play or singing praise to their Parents or, occasionally, racing from one part of the Silver City to another.

Michael always won, or sometimes Amenadiel. The others were happy for their siblings, and could always win the next time, could they not?

Well, no, they couldn’t, but one could dream.

Those seven were the only angels in the history of the Universe to have been _born_ rather than created out of atoms and God’s Will. They were adorable as little winged babies, if God were to say so. They were also quite a lot of work and a true test to Their parenting abilities.

(Do you see where we’re going with this? Well, as present-day Lucifer would tell you, They weren’t exactly Parents of the Aeon…)

Some years later, millions of other—incorporeal—angels joined the family. The Ineffable Plan was in a state of a First Draft, the yet-empty husk of the Earth began rotating around the Sun, and some sort of hierarchy was established in all the chaos.

After God assigned everyone their duties, the Archangels led their charges and taught them to sing in the choirs, to create the stars, to do this useless new thing called _fighting_. And besides all that, everyone had their own Function—Messenger, Healer, Angel of Death.

For where there suddenly was mortal life, there must also be the end of it.

And where there was mortal life, there were also questions. Doubts. Samael started to spread words against their Creator, against humans and the lack of free will. Soon, the entirety of Heaven was split in two factions: those who followed the Almighty unconditionally, and those who had objections.

A war broke out.

There was a purpose to learning how to fight now, and some particularly curious angels might ask if God had planned it that way all along. Perhaps they even did. It hardly mattered in the end.

Lucifer’s losing party were banished from Heaven forever, stripped of their Grace, and sent swan-diving into a sea of boiling sulphur. It shook everyone to the core, even those who stayed in Heaven. It was all anyone has ever talked about since. The Fall. Lucifer’s downfall.

But he wasn’t the only Archangel who Fell. Out of seven, only five remained in the Silver City, and they were the most heartbroken ones. They lost two beloved siblings that day. It hardened them forever. The family was shattered, and they _hated_ Lucifer and Raphael for it.

Especially because—well, Raphael didn’t even _mean_ to be there. His only damning fault was being inquisitive, and worried about his brother. He was also healing anyone and everyone he found, from either side, and found himself on the wrong one[2] when the verdict was sealed.

In the new Kingdom of terror and excruciating pain, the two emerged from the burning lake among the first. Only the one known as Beelzebub from that day onwards was with them, a fierce Seraph who had reigned over the Holy Fire. She’d been one of Lucifer’s most loyal supporters. And their sister-in-law, if in-laws had been a thing back then, because Gabriel and she had been bonded as one[3].

He’d almost followed her and his brothers too, but he’d kept his questions to himself and kept on following their Creator with blind devotion because it was what they were _supposed_ to do and questions were _wrong_ , and if they were asking them, there was no place for them in Heaven anymore.

He was merciless, in the end. So was Michael.

The three of them held each other and wept for their loss. The whole world was on fire, and the pain was unbearable. But then Beelzebub gritted her teeth and rose up. She was a demon and didn’t cry for anyone now. Lucifer followed suit.

‘Welcome to your kingdom, My King,’ she said with a laugh like broken glass. Then she turned to Raphael. Except that wasn’t who he was anymore, was it? ‘Or is it your kingdom?’

‘No,’ he said. His throat was dry and he felt the last of his beautiful singing voice dissipating. Would he be able to heal, still? He didn’t want to be there; he didn’t mean to Fall!

‘I—don’t want power. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here, please, brother. You can keep the throne, I don’t want it. I didn’t ask for any of this, I—’

He looked Up at their Parent and _cursed_.

‘We could rule together, you and I,’ Lucifer said. He was offering his hand.

Raphael shook his head. It _hurt_. His very essence hurt and twisted and reshaped itself within him. ‘No,’ he said again, pleading. ‘And—promise me that you won’t—tell—’

Desperate, he tightened his wings around his form. His very recognisable, star-spattered dark wings. Lucifer understood what he meant.

 _Tell anyone who I am_.

‘As you wish, then.’ Lucifer snapped his burnt fingers. A snake lay[4] where a fallen angel stood moments before. ‘You did always like snakes, brother, so you’ll be one. A nobody. Crawly the snake. No one will notice you like this if you stay out of trouble. Now get lost. And keep your primary wings[5] hidden if you know what’s good for you, _and_ for me.’

Snake. Like the golden rod he’d wielded.

Lucifer gave him a nod of acknowledgement, and so did Beelzebub. ‘I promise,’ she said. ‘And I promise it’s the last kind word you’ll hear from me in a long time.’

Lucifer flicked his wrist to emphasise his previous point.

Crawly crawled away.

* * *

1 Well, _siblings_ in this case meant more something along the lines of _beings created by the same Creator through unrelated by blood_ —to use a human metaphor. It would have been awkward, otherwise, between Crowley and Aziraphale.[✿]

2 Perhaps… well, perhaps _ineffably_ so.[✿]

3 You might be surprised, but bonds between two angels were not uncommon. They were beings of love, after all, and while their love for their Creator was all-encompassing and brighter than anything, it didn’t mean there wasn’t room for love for one specific being in there, and their siblings and friends, and all sorts of creatures of the Universe.[✿]

4 He didn’t have the power to transform an angel into a snake, no. Only God could do that. Raphael’s _already_ had it; Lucifer was merely suggesting that he should _use it_.[✿]

5 He, as a Cherub, had two pairs of wings. They have always been black, but his first, larger pair had a certain shimmer to it; emerald, indigo, violet, and silver were spattered among the dark feathers like galaxies, iridescent and magnificent. It was the second that was ordinary.[✿]


	3. Tea Party

‘I told you I wanted nothing to do with the Throne back then, and I’ll say it again. _No_. I’m quite happy where I am now, in case you didn’t notice.’

Crowley gripped the mug of tea-with-scotch that was more scotch than tea at this point with both hands. It didn’t shatter thanks to sheer force of will. Glasses abandoned on the table, his serpentine eyes bore into Lucifer’s brown ones. He hasn’t done his whole Red Devil Eyes Stare yet, which was good. But the staring contest made him shiver all over.

‘Does your angel boytoy know who you are, I wonder?’ Lucifer said.

The mug couldn’t withstand the pressure anymore. Porcelain shards scattered all over the table and floor; tea trickled on the carpet. Crowley surged forward and grabbed the lapels of Lucifer’s jacket.

‘I don’t care who you are, I’ll wipe you off the face of this planet with nothing but my fingers if you say one more word about Aziraphale,’ he snarled. ‘ _One_ word.’

Lucifer, the smug bloody bastard, refused to acknowledge the fact that he should feel threatened by that and didn’t even flinch. No, he grinned so smugly he could put Gabriel to _shame_ [1]. Crowley levelled him with a pointed glare and after a few seconds of hovering, he let go.

He sat back down and cleaned the mess away with a flick of his wrist. Lucifer smoothed his somewhat crumpled jacket. The carpet was relieved.

‘See? You’re already doing so well, brother; now if you just did that with a bunch of disobedient demons and elevated my pains and troubles, that would be most helpful,’ Lucifer said in his usual mellifluous voice. There was a reason everyone had fallen to their knees around him, Temptation-bloody-Incarnate.

‘No,’ Crowley said flatly. ‘You know what that means, right?’

‘They’re afraid of you now, if the rumours I’ve heard are true.’

Crowley let out a noncommittal sound. He’d rather not go into the whole Holy Bath business. Though—and he couldn’t help it, really—this little ball of satisfaction kindled inside him[2]. Gah, he was so proud of his angel and his hidden but unrelenting bastard side.

‘Have you really been up on Earth this whole time?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair. He was drawing from that emotion bubble for confidence. He was getting better at it with every minute. ‘Can’t blame them for wanting a new King, especially after the lack of war. That’s why they’re rioting Down There, right?’

Because, long story short, apparently the demons were dissatisfied with Lucifer’s way of rule: that is, rule in absence. Or so he’s just told him. Ha! As if any of that was his problem. He has left Hell behind for good[3] after the trials—insert air quotes—and intended for it to stay that way.

Tea party notwithstanding.

‘Well, like I said, I _quit_. Hell’s not my problem anymore. Never bloody has been.’

‘They kidnapped my nephew, Crowley, they’re _serious_ about it,’ Lucifer said. He was bordering on impatient. ‘I’ve been back for a month, but—I’m afraid I can’t hold Hell together for much longer, as I’ve _told you_.’

‘They hate me as much as they hate _you_ now,’ Crowley continued in his spiel. When was he going to understand? Right now, he might be here as his brother, but he was also his former boss, _Satan himself_ , and Crowley… forgot what he was about to think next, because his brain registered a certain word that was most certainly _new_. ‘Actually, wait wait wait, go back, _what_? Since when do you have a nephew?’

‘Since March. Amenadiel’s. He’s your nephew too.’

‘ _What_?’ Crowley sputtered. Well, obviously he was his nephew _too_ , but _Amenadiel’s_? Really?

How come it wasn’t in the newspapers[4]?

Never mind that, _how_?

‘He’s a Nephil,’ Lucifer said. Crowley, being curious by nature, had even more questions. He saved them for later. ‘The demons wanted to raise him to be the new King. They need an angel, Crowley. Archangel, to be precise.’

Crowley knew this. He sighed and leant forward. The chair, which was previously swaying on two unsteady legs, hit the floor with a loud _thunk_. ‘ _And I don’t want to be the King of Hell, Lucifer! They can’t know who I am._ ’

He really, _really_ didn’t know how to be more clear about this. But apparently, Lucifer was just as stubborn as he’s always been, because he glossed right over that and offered more convincing arguments that weren’t going to convince anyone in this household.

‘You survived Holy Water. They know you have power. And besides, I’m not asking you to replace me, merely to help me get them in shape. I want to be able to go back home, you know. LA.’

Crowley tapped his foot against the wooden floor. Testily. Not at all nervously. He miracled himself more tea.

‘I didn’t actually—never mind.’ He ran his hands across his face. He wasn’t stupid enough to tell him about the Body Swap. Hell was a big pit of gossip. In a voice that was smaller than he’d like, he said, ‘I thought you loved ruling Hell?’

‘No, it got boring after a few million years, bloody Hell.’ He snorted. ‘Pun intended. I found I liked Earth much better. Never thanked you for that, actually, or that son of mine or whoever. I’m glad it didn’t end.’

‘You are?’ Crowley raised both eyebrows. It gave him whiplash.

‘Yes, that’s what this is bloody _about_.’ Lucifer shook his head in disbelief. ‘First that happened, and then they remembered I fucked off to the City of Angels and left them to their own devices seven years back _and_ failed to try and restart the Apocalypse[5], so who did they decide was the scapegoat? Me! And I’ll be damned again before I admit it, but I don’t know what to do anymore, bless it! I had to leave the love of my life and take the Throne back before they took Earth for themselves, but sooner or later they _will_ try and turn on me again.’

Crowley felt a nagging compulsion to blurt out another baffled _what_ —but he didn’t get a chance.

‘What is going on here?!’

They both turned to the source of the bewildered and slightly alarmed voice. There stood Aziraphale, wielding a tome of considerable weight as a weapon. His eyes flitted from Crowley to Lucifer and back again, and he looked ready to smite the Devil right back where he came from.

‘Calm down, Principality, I just came to have a brotherly chat with Crowley here, I’m not here to hurt anyone,’ Lucifer said nonchalantly. There was a bit of temptation to it, Crowley could tell. The Devil took a sip of his tea. ‘He makes excellent tea, by the way.’

‘Yes, he does,’ Aziraphale said tonelessly. He didn’t put the book[6] down.

‘If he wanted to kill me, he’d have already done it, angel,’ Crowley said. He noticed that his own voice sounded tired. ‘You can put that down.’

He did, reluctantly, all the while piercing Lucifer with his blue gaze. Crowley found it incredibly hot, but this was no time to think about that. He had to compartmentalise, so the thought was catalogued in the little _think about this later_ drawer in his mind as well.

‘Wonderful,’ Lucifer drawled. He took Aziraphale in, shabby waistcoat to tartan bow tie. ‘Now there’s a walking sexy librarian fantasy if I’ve ever seen one…’

Crowley told the blush creeping to his cheeks to change its mind or else, and snapped at him. ‘Shut up. And stay away from him; he’s mine, capiche?’

‘Well, we’re hardly such monogamous creatures as humans—’

‘Think about your next words _very_ carefully, Luci.’

Lucifer lifted his hands in an imitation of surrendering. He laughed, as if flirting with his angel was at all _funny_. ‘Alright, message received, no need to be so prickly about it.’

‘Yes, as if I would ever…’ Aziraphale trailed off, but Crowley knew exactly what he meant. He couldn’t help the proud smile. Aziraphale’s eyes landed on him, and his expression morphed into that of a fluffy, white, confused dog. ‘What is—what _is_ going on, Crowley?’

‘So I take it he _doesn’t_ know.’

* * *

1 It was a family thing, actually. Maybe you noticed.[✿]

2 Literally. If you looked beyond the physical form and into the metaphysical—which of course isn’t possible for humans, but let’s ignore that for a while—among all the serpent eyes and wings and animal heads, you could see a sort of a burning core, where his essence was. And there, in that core, was a fiery bubble that popped up when a strong emotion manifested itself.[✿]

3 Pun definitely unintended, but Aziraphale might disagree.[✿]

4 Neither he nor Aziraphale unsubscribed from their respective ex-side’s paper. Partly because it was a complicated process that involved way too much paperwork, and partly because they couldn’t miss the gossip and the opportunity to roll their eyes at H&H’s feeble attempts at Big Miracles™, which mostly comprised Jesus or Satan appearing on toast somewhere.[✿]

5 Were one to believe in the multiverse theory, one might find that the universes were in a bit of a disagreement on this one. Somewhere, there are versions of this event where he did indeed show up at the air base, but that goes beyond us and we shall refrain from discussing it any further.[✿]

6 Aziraphale, much like all beings of celestial origin, was mighty strong, so if he put his mind to it, he _would_ be able to discorporate or gravely injure someone with a book. He was also capable of lifting whole crates of books, the sofa with Crowley _on it_ when a rogue walnut found its way underneath, or Crowley _onto_ the sofa—or bed—so there was that.[✿]


	4. Little Brother

The thing about corporeal bodies was, besides not all angels and demons having them, that they hid your essence. They tucked it away, folded it inside all the flesh and bone somewhere. You could see a sort of a glow when you looked into the celestial plane of existence, and the outline of wings and an aura, but your true form was shielded.

Another important factor here was that most Earth-bound angels and demons turned the celestial vision off anyway, focusing solely on the mortal plane—because let’s be honest, seeing all the souls and auras and constant fluttering of wings got a bit too much sometimes. They lived among humans, so like humans they would behave.

To relate, or something.

That was how Aziraphale never found out. He knew not to pry, and had told Crowley that if he wished to tell him about himself one day, he could, but Aziraphale himself wouldn’t dare ask. Crowley was infinitely grateful for that. This was a line you didn’t cross unless you purposefully meant to traumatise someone.

Unless you were Lucifer bloody Morningstar, apparently.

‘He doesn’t,’ Crowley snapped at him. ‘Or he didn’t, until you turned up and ruined a perfectly good morning. Well done.’

(But he still had to hand it to him; he did keep that promise until now.)

‘Crowley, will you _please_ explain this to me?’ Aziraphale said. A frown, something desperate, coloured his brow. ‘Satan is sitting in our kitchen, and you’re sipping tea with him!’

Before Crowley had a chance to get a word in edgewise, Lucifer stood up and put on his best Tempting Smile. Crowley sort of wanted to vaporise him on spot for doing that to _Aziraphale_. Then he put his hands on either one of the angel’s shoulders. There, that was it. Crowley was getting up.

‘This might come as a great surprise to you, but the Apocalypse happened, or tried to, less _because_ of me and more _in spite_ of me[1],’ Lucifer said. Crowley slowly slid his hand between Aziraphale and him and, with his best glower, inserted a big chunk of space between them.

Lucifer had the chutzpah to roll his eyes.

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and took two deep breaths. He gave Aziraphale an apologetic look. ‘You know Satan, King of Hell. This is Lucifer, my little brother.’ He scowled at said brother again. ‘Who knows no _boundaries_.’

‘And he’s always been vocal about it in Heaven, too,’ Lucifer said. Condescendingly. As if Crowley hasn’t just asserted that he was the _younger_ one.

He held up a finger. ‘Shut up. That was a long time ago.’

‘ _Little brother_?’ Aziraphale said, wondering, waiting for the dots to connect in that beautiful big mind of his. ‘But he was—that would mean—’

‘Yes, that would _mean_ ,’ Lucifer said again. He was really starting to annoy Crowley now, if before wasn’t enough. ‘Although he’s been persistent about leaving the past behind and blending into the shadows like all the other demons. I still can’t fathom why.’

Aziraphale’s eyes went incredibly wide. Full of befuddled astonishment. But Crowley had to take this one step at a time. There was a statement of Lucifer’s his brain needed to respond to first.

‘You wouldn’t, would you? You still want to hold the Throne even when they hate you; you’ve always wanted power. But in the end, ‘s not even different from how it’s been in Heaven, the whole… blindly following one person of authority thing. Just saying.’ He licked his lips. The silence was awkward. ‘That’s why I wanted out. Can Aziraphale and I have a moment alone now? In our own house?’

Lucifer gave him a pat on the back. ‘Of course, don’t let me stop you. You won’t even know I’m here.’

With one last pointed, and pointless, look, Crowley took Aziraphale’s arm and led him into the bedroom. He resisted turning back and checking what sort of trouble Lucifer was up to when he heard a loud clattering noise and a curse. It would all be _fine_.

He closed the door behind them and leant against it. He banged his head on the wood a few times. It didn’t make any of the irritation go away, much to his chagrin.

‘You were an Archangel,’ came from the bed. Crowley looked at the angel, wringing his hands and looking anywhere but at him. His shoes, currently.

Crowley supposed he should start with a simple _yes_ for now.

This wasn’t how he’d wanted that particular conversation to go. He’d imagined being comfy on the sofa, a bit drunk, definitely wearing fewer clothes, maybe a hundred years from now. When the shock of the Apocawhoops died down a bit.

Because honestly? Aziraphale has experienced nothing but rainbows and puppies in his dealings with Archangels! Nothing to kick off one’s retirement like finding out one’s partner used to be one and subsequently realising that this whole time, those arseholes have been his _siblings_ , eh?

‘But, but, but, there’s Gabriel and Michael and Uriel—’

Crowley swallowed.

Yeah. _Those_ arseholes.

Except—it was less _finding out_ and more _confirming_ , wasn’t it? Crowley was never known for being subtle. That was the last bloody thing he was, _subtle_.

‘Raphael,’ he said. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t leave a bitter taste on his tongue. Aziraphale looked up. ‘I was Raphael. But you’ve known for a while, angel, you just didn’t _want to_ know it.’ Crowley attempted a weak smile. ‘Only Archangels can manipulate time, Aziraphale, even the fledgelings know that.’

Aziraphale just _looked_ at him. Unsteady pale blue eyes.

‘Well, I had my… suspicions,’ he said, softly tilting his head. ‘I can’t say I haven’t given it a thought, Crowley, somewhere in the back of my mind[2], but I know the Fall is a painful subject. I’d never have pushed you to tell me, you know that. It’s not important, who you were before. It’s important who you are _now_ , to me.’

‘Tell that to the Devil in my kitchen.’ Crowley sighed and peeled away from the door. He crouched in front of Aziraphale. Their knees touched. He took his hands, too. And grimaced. ‘I really didn’t want you to find out like this… And I’m sorry for Gabriel and the others, too, you have no idea—’

Aziraphale squeezed his hands. ‘My _dear_.’ He smiled. It did Things to Crowley. ‘It doesn’t change anything[3]. It’s not your fault. And I’ll hit him with that book if it will make you feel better.’

Crowley snorted. It actually might. Picturing it in his head certainly did wonders. ‘Yeah. No, angel, there’s no need, I’ll make sure to tell him he’s not welcome, loud and clear.’

Loud _er_ and clear _er_ , anyway, because saying “no” four times clearly wasn’t enough. Also, something loud and involving pots was still going on in the kitchen, but Crowley had more pressing concerns than him snooping through the cabinets right now. He tried to ignore it.

‘You seem… close.’ Aziraphale said it as if it bit him in the tongue. Crowley didn’t blame him.

‘We’re not. We tolerate each other. It’s… a complicated relationship, to say the least. But family’s family; I know he won’t skin me for talking back,’ Crowley said. He’s always had a problem with that, hasn’t he? ‘Cos I can’t help that, really.’

Lucifer never took against _him_ , unlike the bunch Upstairs[4] whom they both did their best to avoid, because he was the only one who’d followed him down. Who was _there_. Crowley tried to tell him that no, he wasn’t interested, but the Devil was stubborn. Oh, he could be cruel, and he did threaten to kill him a couple of times, but he’s always looked out for him, in a way.

‘And he saved me when he gave me the Earth job.’

* * *

1 Lucifer had, of course, been aware of Armageddon in general terms. But he’s been keeping his distance from his subordinates in Hell for quite some time before leaving, and no one thought to come knocking at his office’s door, telling him it was about to start, because everyone assumed he obviously _knew_ , and besides, he hated to be interrupted. It could cost them their corporation. So, having the child the existence of whom was unknown to Lucifer, they decided to proceed on their own.

As for the Antichrist—well, Lucifer has been sleeping with a good number of women and never fathered a child on any of them, so how was he to know that just this once, he _did_? It was all about the automatic defence thingy, to use Crowley’s words.[✿]

2 How come he could stop time? How come he could bring a dead dove back to life? How come he had such a fondness for children, very unusual for demons? How come I’ve found him at a hospital in ancient Syria once, helping people? How come he’s the only demon who comes and goes freely and is respected despite not having any rank? How come he’s always clean? So kind, merciful, thoughtful at times?

How come none of us has ever heard of Raphael since the Fall, thinking he ran to the stars—but what if he hasn’t?[✿]

3 For those interested, his train of thought was about following: the Archangels are one of the cruellest beings I’ve met, I won’t try to convince myself otherwise anymore; his other siblings besides them are Satan, Death—Creation’s Shadow—and Amenadiel—Fury of God, oh dear; but he’s not one of them, is he? He’s Crowley. He’s Fallen, he’s a demon, and he’s left all of them behind. He’s not associated with them anymore. It’s not his fault, what they’d done. He’s _my_ demon. He’s wonderful. I love him. So it’s actually quite alright![✿]

4 Except for Azrael, who remained a neutral party like Heaven’s own Switzerland, because everyone was equal in death. And besides, Lucifer and Raphael have always been their favourite brothers, anyway.[✿]


	5. The Earth Job

‘I’ve got an assignment for you, Crawly.’

Before he even knew what was going on, he found himself six feet above the ground and staring into the eyes of Lucifer’s new corporation instead of crawling his way along Hell’s busiest passage. He was no less confused.

‘Asssssssignment?’

‘I’ve heard that you’ve been sneaking into the Garden and watching the humans,’ Lucifer said. He didn’t let any thoughts or emotions slip through. Crawly was starting to be a tiny bit terrified. He was sure no one noticed; he’s been very careful about being seen by both the angels and the demons—or so he _thought_ , because somehow, Lucifer had caught wind of his activities. Of course he did.

He was _so_ dead right now.

Or, wait, he said assignment though, hasn’t he? Crawly, hoping _not_ to be dead, listened. Around them, demons milled about without paying them much attention. Some bowed before their King.

‘Like the lowly serpent you are,’ he continued. ‘Well, I want you to get up there again and stir some trouble. Secure a big win for us.’

‘Copy that, My Lord,’ he said. It wasn’t often that you got direct orders from the King. Less so for demons without rank. But Crawly had his suspicions why he chose _him_ in particular.

‘Report directly to me when you’re done, will you?’

He nodded. ‘Ssssssure.’

‘Off you go then,’ Lucifer said, and dropped him without much ceremony like he was a darned _cat_. Crawly shook his head and oriented himself. Right. Stir some trouble on Earth.

He grinned, as much as snakes _could_ grin. He had questioned Heaven. But he _hated_ Hell, and any opportunity to escape, even for a moment, was a moment to be treasured. He crawled with renewed vigour, and eventually found his way onto the earthly plane.

The lush, lustrous, and so wonderfully _green_ Garden of Eden.

He looked around and immediately remembered the apple tree on that clearing in the middle. It was _clearly_ not meant to be touched, so if Adam and Eve did touch it, that would mean trouble, right? Defying the Almighty?

A plan was already hatching in his little snake head. He’s always been a quick thinker.

He was also a Tempter now. And so some hours later, he broke through the earth in a truly dramatic fashion and sweet-talked Eve into biting the apple. She gave the apple to Adam, and trouble was stirred.

Crawly found Lucifer in the Castle afterwards—or rather, Lucifer found him, _again_. This time, he transformed into a male-shaped body before he could be picked up again. A male-shaped body with the eyes of a snake and the mark of his new form imprinted onto his cheek[1].

‘Reporting a successful mission, My Lord. I tempted the humans into eating the Forbidden Fruit,’ he said with a cheeky grin that was only halfway for show. He did rather think that there was nothing so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil and seeing the world for what it was.

Their eyes were so _hollow_ when he talked to them…

‘Oh, that’s an _excellent_ job, Crawly, well done! I expect the full report on my desk by the end of the week, if you will; I’ll take it from here. Always been so fascinated with them, myself…’ He looked at the wall in thought. ‘I do wonder if they are any good at sex. They’ve been having an awful lot of it, haven’t they?’ he chuckled.

Oh.

Right.

‘Hang on, was I—did you make me an unwitting accomplice to your sexual experiments here? Was that what this was about? Playing matchmaker for the Devil, well, that’s one position I never wanted to be in again after—’

‘Don’t get mouthy with me!’ Lucifer roared. He grabbed the front of Crawly’s tunic. Crawly swallowed. ‘I should have you quartered! You have no right, serpent; only my equals can be mouthy with me, and you are very much not that.’

Using the fabric as leverage, he dragged him across the passageway and into his chambers. He sent the guards out and with a wave of his hand, the heavy doors snapped shut behind them. He finally let Crawly go.

‘As you’ve insisted yourself, brother, so don’t get carried away,’ he said, with a general warning tone rather than an angry one. ‘They’re stupid, but they might get suspicious, and where would we be then? Anyway. I know you hate it here, so I’m promoting you to Earth Agent. You can leave as soon as there are more humans up there.’

Crawly blinked. It was something he wasn’t in the habit of doing very often.

‘I couldn’t have done that without you doing some _work_ for Hell. But you earned it, Crawly, by being true to your name and crawling your way in! Clearly that environment suits you more than _this_ ,’ he gestured around the chamber. Then he gave him a pat on the back. Literally. It was the last thing Crawly expected, to be honest.

‘I, unh—yeah. Thank you, My Lord.’

‘I did make you an unwitting accomplice to my sexual experiments, by the way. Three birds with one stone, eh?’ He grinned. ‘Now go and don’t let anyone think I _helped you_ , for Dad’s sake. And do make sure to earn your stay as well.’

Crawly nodded again. Behind him, his invisible wings fluttered. Earth—Earth did really seem like a place to learn to like, not Heaven, not Hell. Different. More interesting. And there was that angel he’d met at the top of the wall—Aziraphale, was it?

That angel was the most interesting.

He walked out through the door, with a double victory in his heart and a half-sour half-scared look on his face. He suppressed the need to start whistling all of a sudden. That would be rather counterproductive, not to mention bloody _weird_ [2].

By the time the Earth spun around the Sun for the two-thousandth time, a nobody has become a somebody. But not because of his former status. Because he was good—or _bad_ , as it were—at his job. Crawly didn’t want power. But he still managed to work his way up, slowly.

They loved him Down There.

Well, some of them. He still couldn’t get Hastur and Ligur to warm up to him, but not for the lack of trying, mind. But the others admired him, because, well, an _Earth Agent_ was bloody _someone_! Everyone wanted his position.

The forms always got dismissed, though, because Lucifer still had a favourite. The other demons just didn’t know _why_. The Original Sin, some guessed, or maybe it was that odd thing about him that he called an imagination?

Well, yes and no.

Crawly didn’t complain. He no longer reported directly to Lucifer[3], which meant he was under Beelzebub’s jurisdiction, but she too was keeping her promise. Mostly because she got comfortable in her position of Lord of Flies, Prince of Gluttony, Second in Command, he supposed, and didn’t want any stray ex-Archangels threatening that. Or maybe because she really enjoyed telling him what to do.

Either way, he lounged comfortably atop a fountain in Knossos, let the sun warm his skin, and absolutely didn’t wait for a fluffy ridiculous angel to show up and thwart his wiles and then invite him to get some food and wine.

Hell was hell, but the Earth turned out to be a paradise as far as a demon was concerned.

He’d have to find Lucifer one of these days and maybe bring him some of that wine as a gift. Or not. That was preposterous, he was _Satan_ , you didn’t drop in unannounced and bring gifts unless you wanted to find yourself spending the next century in the Pit.

But Crawly couldn’t help but feel he owed him more than just that one report from two months ago.

* * *

1 He’s always had the mark, but it was golden before. After the Fall, it turned black and looked much like any other human tattoo. He supposed it was better than the scales and boils others’ golden marks had turned into, being a demon of aesthetics, but it reminded him of who he’d been before too much for his liking.[✿]

2 Cheerful whistling hasn’t been invented yet.[✿]

3 The King got bored of reading paperwork all the time and passed the buck to Dagon, who in turn answered to Beelzebub. The Prince was Hell’s Second in Command, so naturally, everything was her responsibility now. Lucifer… observed. And went to Earth a lot.[✿]


	6. Crumpets and Revelations

When Crowley returned to the general habitable area of the cottage some ten minutes and one more slightly unpleasant bit of Conversation later, he found Lucifer unashamedly hogging the whole sofa and eating Aziraphale’s home-made crumpets[1].

‘Ah, I see you’ve sorted it out. Wonderful,’ Lucifer said. He lifted one piece of pastry, butter and jam and all. ‘These are really good, by the way. I’ve missed Earth food. Can’t get anything half as decent in Hell.’

Crowley nodded his head in something of an agreement, because really, all there was in Hell was either burnt, raw, or rotten and didn’t have much in the way of flavour, and resisted snatching the uneaten crumpets out of his hands. The bloody _cheek_.

At least Aziraphale allowed to be convinced to get back to his thing—restoring a 10th-century book—and didn’t have to bear witness to his cakes’ unceremonious and sudden end.

‘Anyway, to get back to the subject on hand,’ Lucifer gestured with the crumpet. ‘Fact One, the demons don’t like you, but they fear you, thanks to the whole Holy Water business. Fact Two, they’re starting to hate me too. I’m losing my grip on them, Crowley. So really, the maths is simple. If I allied myself with you…’

‘They’d hate you even more. Traitor, remember?’ Crowley said with a carefully blank expression.

What was he _thinking_ , that two losers could fare any better than one? Well, perhaps so, but it didn’t matter that they feared what Crowley might do; they would stop listening to him as soon as he left, or even done something the philosophy of which they’d disagree on. They were demons. Stupid, dumb demons who thrived on bloodshed and didn’t appreciate Crowley’s vision. Or Earth’s continued existence.

‘Well, Beelzebub is still on my side, ever so loyal,’ Lucifer noted. Crowley didn’t see where he was going with this. ‘And she has considerable power.’

‘Of course she is. Family doesn’t mean much to the Fallen, but you are and always will be her brother-in-law, not just her king. I mean, as much as she enjoyed being able to torment me and boss me around knowing who I was, she still respects you,’ he said.

He continued to hover near the sofa.

‘She saved you at the trial, did you know that?’ Lucifer mused. In _what_ way exactly, he wanted to ask, but Lucifer elaborated unprompted: ‘When she sent you away and swept the whole affair under the rug. She thought there was still a bit of Archangel in you and didn’t want Hell to find out the hard way. Or at all. She’s keeping her promise.’

‘Well, guess they’re all full of surprises,’ Crowley said, for the lack of anything else to say. He finally went and sat on the headrest of the nearest armchair[2]. ‘I should send her a gift basket or something, eh?’ he joked. ‘And speaking of—you weren’t there at the air base, but you should’ve seen her and Gabriel. They were still giving off totally married vibes. I mean…’

He saw him _touch her and get away with it_. If that wasn’t a sign something was afoot, he didn’t know what was. He’d been around the first time they shacked up together, bloody hell.

‘Oh, are they patching it up?’ Lucifer perked up. ‘Do tell!’

‘Dunno more than that, I’m afraid,’ Crowley grimaced. He didn’t want to know more than that, to be perfectly honest. Just the thought made him shudder. As he said, he’d been there the first time around. ‘But the point is, me being there and backing up your claim won’t help anything; they’d just riot more. Even if I told them who I was, which I won’t, they wouldn’t want me there.’

‘They need an angel. That’s all they care about, Crowley, even an infant would’ve done if they got their way,’ Lucifer said, sitting up. He brushed crumbs off his trousers. ‘And they think you are one. Aren’t you?’

For the second time that day, Crowley blinked. Blimey, he really did believe it. ‘About as much as you are one,’ he said without missing a beat.

‘I am, actually,’ Lucifer said, and hang on, what was that?

He unfurled his wings. Where Crowley expected to lay eyes on scorched skin and red leather, he saw a pair of pristine, white, and utterly divine feathered wings. Celestial light and all. He had to squint to be able to look at him without his sunglasses. Then there was the second, much smaller pair.

‘Wh—how—that—’

A ripple went through the feathers as he flapped his wings. ‘Angels self-actualise. Something Amenadiel figured out. You wouldn’t know about it, but he Fell three years ago.’

Crowley opened his mouth, and Lucifer raised his index finger to shut him up before he managed to get a single syllable out. He snapped his mouth shut and told it to stay that way with all the willpower he could gather. Looking like a gaping fish was the last thing he needed. 

‘And then he Rose again when he stopped believing that he deserved to be punished. That’s what _we’ve_ been carrying with us since the War broke out. You can say you didn’t mean to Fall all you want, Crowley, but right here,’ he tapped that spot where humans had hearts, ‘you think you deserved it. We all do. But you’re still better off than the others. Heard you could pause time and bring things back to life, is that true?’

Crowley let out a noise that was probably an affirmative.

Lucifer laughed, then. Almost manically. ‘Have you checked your true form lately? I believe you should. Because look at me. You see it, don’t you? Ethereal.’ He put the wings back into the celestial plane and wiggled on that sofa. ‘I fell in love. I did the selfless thing and gave that love up to stop Hell from taking Earth with or without a war, even if every minute of it still hurts. And everyone can do that, they just choose not to. It’s all about the free will, eh?’

Crowley let out more noises.

‘I think that it’s not about the Almighty forgiving us, but about us forgiving the Almighty, in the end. Think about that.’ He pointed half of another crumpet in his direction and then swallowed it in two bites. It was the last one. ‘My lovely therapist helped me realise all that[3], and if I could get there, so can you, brother, because we’ve always been more similar than you think. I mean, look at you, you were the only one who followed me down.’

Lucifer let out a bitter chuckle. Crowley slid off the armchair much less elegantly than he’d like to. His mind was spinning as fast as his Bentley rode on country lanes.

‘I—no, ‘s too much. I need a drink. Or a smoke. Some fresh air. Excuse me.’

He bolted right through the front door.

* * *

1 Aziraphale had learnt to bake out of sheer boredom in the 19th century and has been perfecting his crafts ever since. He was a _master_ of scones and cakes of all kinds, and could go as far as to make tarts, Danishes, a wonderful dacquoise, and a tiramisu that was to discorporate for. Croissants, though… well, they needed some practice yet. Tricky rolled bastards.[✿]

2 Sitting straight happened to other people.[✿]

3 Though it did take her four years, too many drinks to count, five filled notebooks, almost getting killed by the Mother of all creation, and having a baby with an Archangel, among other things. And so, so many nights spent questioning everything she thought she knew about the Universe. It wasn’t easy, being a therapist to a very pig-headed, self-centred Devil.[✿]


	7. Mind the Plants

Lucifer found Crowley in the garden some ten minutes later, smoking his second miracled-up cigarette[1] and giving the vegetable bed a stern talking to. Crowley didn’t startle when he called him by name. He _didn’t_. Shut up.

He rose from his crouching position and frowned by habit. ‘Thought you’d pissed off, Lord Lucifer.’

‘So I really can’t convince you, can I?’ he said, avoiding that answer just as Crowley was avoiding thinking about the implications of That Speech. And looking at him.

That, however, didn’t mean he hasn’t been _thinking_.

‘Okay, I’ve been thinking,’ he told him. Somehow, inexplicably, his mouth decided to go into Proud Plotting Mode. ‘Beelzebub has been ruling instead of you for some time now, and she supports you, am I right?’

Lucifer nodded. ‘As I’ve told you.’

‘They listen to her—still right? Did things change much while I’ve been gone?’

‘Not much, no. Besides the whole wanting-a-new-king debacle.’

‘Well, she’s not an Archangel, but she’s still a Prince of Hell and a _spouse_ of an Archangel. Was a Seraph, I mean, hnn, ‘s powerful enough.’ He unstuck his eyes from the growing carrots and looked at Lucifer. He jerked his head in thought. ‘No demon can sit on the Throne[2], but if they’re still _bonded_ , there must be some of that Archangel essence left in her.’

He let his gaze slip back onto the soil and vegetation, and took a drag from the cigarette. It helped. Not looking at him helped too. ‘Think you can pull off joint rule? Or pass it onto her fully? ‘S just a theory, and I’m not too thrilled about it either, but it’s the best I’ve got that does _not_ involve me going back in any way.’

‘Hmm,’ Lucifer said. ‘That’s worth looking into, I suppose. But are you sure—’

His golden eyes snapped up and gave him the most unimpressed glare. ‘Yes I’m fucking _sure_ , Luci. Or do you want me to say it for the fiftieth time? Write it down for you?’

Lucifer opened his mouth but promptly changed his mind about speaking. He looked around the garden, which, in a way, became a second Eden of sorts. It was only missing the tropical fruits, which he was intending to plant next year and to threaten into bearing fruit in England if it knew what was good for it.

And the Apples[3], of course.

He thought about it some more and said, ‘That way I _could_ be up here for the most of my time, and occasionally pop Downstairs to remind them of my existence and slowly regain their loyalty, but…’

‘ _Up here_ better mean Los Angeles,’ Crowley said when it was clear he wouldn’t continue. He leant closer to his shoulder and grinned, fangs and all, ‘And if that’s all, can you leave now?’

Lucifer, faux-affronted, said, ‘Mind that snappy tone, serpent. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.’

‘Right now I’m talking to my younger brother. You’re not my King anymore, I can say what I want. And I _will_ throw Holy Water on you.’

He’d have to get some from Aziraphale first, but that was just a technicality.

Well, nah, who was he kidding? He wouldn’t throw it on anyone other than Hastur, that lucky, elusive tosser. He _really_ didn’t like Hastur.

But. Anyway. Lucifer was speaking.

‘I’m immune anyway, so you’re welcome to try.’ Lucifer mimicked his grin and turned to face him. He gave him a pat on the shoulder. ‘As a matter of fact, I might show them just that. You haven’t been the most helpful, but your advice wasn’t half as rubbish either, so thank you. I’ll leave you and Aziraphale be now.’

_Imm_ —no, Crowley refused to be that gaping fish. He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t going to question it. He’s seen those wings. The Devil, immune to Holy Water. Yup. Sure. Why not.

Because if he questioned it, he’d either end up doubled over laughing, or taking another depression nap, or both, in that order. Perhaps with a dose of yelling at God.

Lucifer started to back away, at last. And then he paused and pointed vaguely at Crowley’s form. ‘If I manage to get back to Chloe and my job at the LAPD full-time, well, there might even be something in it for you.’

‘I want my reputation in Hell to stay as is and you know that,’ Crowley said, shuffling on his feet uncomfortably. He took another drag, if only to have something to do with his hands.

‘Well, a gift perhaps. And you _must_ visit my club sometimes. It’s called LUX, very hard to miss.’

Crowley clicked his tongue. ‘‘Course it is. Now go and don’t let anyone think I _helped you_ , and mind the plants!’

Lucifer laughed, knowing very well what Crowley was doing here. Good. ‘Have fun doing whatever you were doing before. It better be shagging that angel into a wall!’

Crowley gave him the bird[4]. ‘Fuck off.’

‘You love him, don’t you?’ Lucifer raised a meaningful eyebrow. Then he snapped his fingers and vanished, leaving behind a faint whiff of brimstone and expensive cologne.

Crowley, who _still_ didn’t want to think about any of that because it was too early and he was too sober and too intent on going with the cool-and-slightly-bitter-demon aesthetic anyway, quenched the cigarette with the heel of his Comfortable Home-Wear Shoe[5] and stalked inside. He let out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding and went straight to Aziraphale’s study.

‘He’s gone back to Hell,’ he said as a way of announcing his presence. Aziraphale knew he was there anyway.

The angel turned around, glasses perched on his nose. ‘Has he now? I was beginning to think he was going to camp out on our sofa all day. Or worse, eat all my rock cakes too.’

A corner of Crowley’s mouth went up on its own accord. ‘You—’ He shook his head and walked up to him. He took his chin in between his fingers and brought their lips together. ‘Love you.’ He gave him another kiss. ‘So much.’ And another. ‘And I need to forget… that. Think you can help me out?’

He was going to have to tell him what _that_ was, probably, he was already seeing that bothered-but-endearing face in his mind, but not now. _Definitely_ not now.

Aziraphale threaded his hand, miraculously clean of binding glue, through Crowley’s hair and hooked a few loose locks behind his ear. The hair was getting long again; he’s been too lazy to cut it. He might just leave it if Aziraphale keeps doing that, though.

‘Absolutely, darling,’ he purred, breath hot on Crowley’s lips, and pulled him in for another kiss.

Lucifer was full of rubbish if he thought that loving someone and maybe even being—gasp!—nice every now and then would make a demon _Rise_ , anyway. Because according to that logic, he’d have stopped being a demon decades, if not centuries, ago.

(But.

Lucifer did it, somehow. He saw it.

_How_?)

* * *

1 Smoking wasn’t a vice he indulged in often. It didn’t even have much of an effect on him, nicotine, but humans have been doing this to calm themselves for centuries now, and some of that has passed onto him too. It wasn’t like he could die from it, was it?[✿]

2 Literally. Physically. Much like most of Hell, the Throne was _alive_ ; it tuned in to whoever sat on it, entered their mind, and engulfed their body with so much energy it would discorporate anyone who wasn’t able to accept it within seconds. Oh, they have _tried_ , but demons only writhed in pain. Archangels were world-builders, creators of stars; they could hold a realm inside their head. They had a vastly difference essence, too, and the Throne, built to recognise that essence, generally squirmed when presented with another.[✿]

3 There were two old apple trees that came with the cottage, but they were of the regular garden variety. Golden Delicious and Gala. Aziraphale was already planning on putting them in pies and making jam.[✿]

4 If anyone was going to be shagged into a wall, it was _Crowley_ , thank you very much.[✿]

5 Yes, a Croc. Black. What of it?[✿]


	8. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is sort of a meta disguised as a chapter. I don't even know, I had to write all this down, so here it goes.

_How_. A simple question, that.

It was nothing but a word, but it could very well spin someone’s world on its axis and turn it around in the opposite direction, just like that. _How? How does gravity work? How can we get to space? How is this and that possible?_

_How does the personification of evil become its antithesis?_

The thing about angels and demons that most of them failed to ever realise was that they were what they believed they were, deep inside their core, beyond their God-given Purpose. Their heart, if you will.

Take Aziraphale. He had lied to God’s face about giving away his flaming sword and continued to lie about it for six thousand years. He hoarded material things and enjoyed food on the level of Gluttony, almost. His personal preferences went against the perfect, clean image of Heaven.

He loved a demon.

Angels Fell for less after the Great War. So why didn’t he?

God’s Will, of course, was one possible answer. Maybe She did not want to see him Fall, interested to see how far one could go. She was always testing everyone, wasn’t She?

Well, there was Amenadiel. He had done the same things, if six thousand years later in a streak of Sin stuffed into the span of a year.

Amenadiel, unlike Aziraphale, did Fall. So why didn’t he?

Amenadiel’s soul believed that his actions were wrong and that he deserved punishment. Aziraphale believed otherwise. That also was a possible answer. Everything was _ineffable_ , after all.

In his own eyes, he was a dutiful angel who loved his Mother and the task he’s been assigned with. _Guarding Earth_. He gave out blessings even where he shouldn’t, and preserved human history within his bookshop. He was doing what was _right_ , as any angel should. And he never, ever doubted himself.

(He had, perhaps, in the early days, when Crowley had been around and he’d told him _no,_ _we cannot be seen together, wily demon, you cannot be here; I am an angel, and I cannot occupy myself with you!_ because he’d enjoyed his company. He had, perhaps, when he’d realised and subsequently disregarded _feelings_.

But never enough to do harm. Heaven was the Truth.)

He loved Crowley, freely and openly, having cut ties with Heaven but not his angelic self, but _love for another_ was hardly wrong, no; it was the most angelic thing of all!

In much the same way, the Archangels, who were perhaps not as virtuous as the Choirs deemed them to be, believed fully in their cause and that what they were doing was _right_. They never faltered. They had driven two of their siblings out, but on Mother’s orders, of course, because they’d been Wrong! This conviction of rightness made them holy, and neither Gabriel’s occasional vanity nor Michael’s clandestine telephone calls could weaken that.

And speaking of siblings—

Crowley liked to say that he hadn’t _meant_ to Fall; he’d merely hung around the wrong people. Had found himself on the wrong side of the crowd.

Crowley had, also, saved children from the Flood, resurrected a dove Aziraphale had accidentally suffocated, or steered clear of causing any _real_ evil like murdering people when still on Hell’s payroll. Lies and petty evils and setting dominoes in motion were his game. He was far too intelligent for the bunch Down There.

He performed blessings sometimes and loved Aziraphale to a fault, the life-shattering realisation of which he’d come to when the bookshop was on fire and he’d been nowhere to be found. But he thought himself a demon to the core. Once you Fell, you couldn’t un-Fall, no matter how much you hated it.

You just learnt _not to_ hate it. Improvise, adapt, overcome. Make it your own thing. And that was easy when you were on Earth all the time.

Heaven had nothing to offer to him, anyway, so why would he want to go back? He’d treated everyone with kindness up until the very end, and they’d still kicked him out. And not just that. They’d tried to _erase_ Aziraphale out of _existence_ and had seen nothing wrong with the implications of that.

That was why it’s never occurred to him that being a demon _wasn’t_ a finite state of being, really. There was always space for growth. That wasn’t just for humans.

Well, it hasn’t occurred to him until now, at least. Now he was thinking about it. And he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

Lucifer—and Amenadiel—had cut their ties with Heaven too, but they’d Risen for Earth. For love. For finally finding their place. For forgiveness. That was their home now, not Heaven, not Hell. Their found and rediscovered family in Los Angeles.

It was like with humans in Hell: anyone could leave whenever they wanted to, whenever they realised that it was time to move on and stop punishing themselves. But they didn’t _know_ they could because they believed Hell was forever, so they _didn’t_.

So… was it really that simple?

Crowley has spent aeons believing the same, but then he found out that Hell _wasn’t_ forever. Their own side; they had said that, right? Earth-bound. Angel and demon, unemployed.

What if that belief was shaken even further, right to its core, by a certain in-between Archangel? What then?

(Thinking… no, it wasn’t enough, but it unveiled possibilities and opened one’s mind. And sometimes, that _was_ enough.

_How_? Look inside your mind and soul.)


	9. Methods of Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify: the last one actually _wasn't_ Crowley-POV, more like thoughts of an omniscient narrator who might or might not be the Almighty.
> 
> Also, I do realise that the only reason demons can't sit on the throne in Luciverse is that it's high up and they don't have wings, lol, but for the purpose of the crossover where all demons are fallen angels, I had to dramatise it a bit, add some metaphysical reasons why it wasn't possible. It's partially inspired by Dacelin's "Eden's Echoes" series.

After a quick side-trip to LA to make sure his club wasn’t losing clientele and Mazikeen was doing well enough running it on her own, Lucifer materialised straight into his Infernal Office[1]. He’s already been gone for far too long, having spent more time at that cottage than he’d have liked.

At least it was a nice cottage. He had to give them that; there were an angel and a demon who knew what they _wanted_. Mismatched décor and a garden by the seaside was hardly his fantasy, but it was clear that it was _someone’s_.

He cast a glance at the forms piling on his desk in a stack that was the opposite of neat and, once again, decided to leave dealing with them for later. Or better yet: for _never_. He needed to find Beelzebub ASAP, and strode out of the office.

It took him about ten minutes of searching and five minutes of breaking up a rioting party and intimidating them into obedience, but he did eventually find her at the sorry, filthy excuse for a Starbucks on Lucifer Square[2].

It was perhaps a bit ironic, that.

Foregoing the pleasantries, he sat on the chair opposite her and rested his elbows on the sticky table. He said, ‘I’m going to ask you a question, and you better answer me honestly.’

Beelzebub slurped on her beverage of questionable quality and said, ‘I can’t guarantee that, but go ahead.’

‘You and dear old Gabe, are you still as palsy-walsy as you were in the old days?’

She stared rather blankly. ‘ _What_?’

‘What I mean is, a little demon told me that you were still…’ he made a gesture that widely encompassed the idea of certain activities. ‘Is that true? And I really do need you to be honest, it’s important.’

Perhaps it was just the neon light of the somewhat demonically modified siren reflecting on her cheeks, but Lucifer would swear she went all red. She took another sip of coffee and cleared her throat. ‘Keep your voice down, walls have _ears_ [3],’ she whispered, fiercely. ‘ _Why_?’

Much like Crowley, she didn’t have much in the way of manners when it came to conversations beyond the official meetings, because she knew she could get away with it. So he didn’t comment on that tone and said, ‘You know I can’t keep sitting on that chair forever, Beelzebub; I have a _life_ now and they don’t want me here. So I’m looking for a replacement—unless a better solution miraculously presents itself, of course.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘And you want _Gabriel_?’

Lucifer tried to keep himself from laughing at that. He failed. ‘Deary me, of course not, he wouldn’t step into Hell if his existence depended on it, and I wouldn’t want him here anyway. No, I meant you.’

There was silence.

Only not really, because it was a demonic Starbucks and therefore dreadfully noisy on its own.

‘Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I’m not an Arch-anything[4].’

‘No, you’re not,’ Lucifer agreed. ‘But he is, and I have a—well, Crowley has a theory that I thought was worth testing. So, are the rumours true? Are you still bonded?’

Beelzebub frowned and held her coffee in a tight, black-nail-varnish’d grip. The cup bent in on itself. ‘You asked the Traitor?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Lucifer let out a scoff. He caged the desire to start tapping his fingers on the grimy table. ‘You and I both know why. I couldn’t convince _him_ though, which is why I’m here. Stop avoiding the subject.’

She sighed and leant closer so as not to be heard. ‘Fine, yes, it’s true that the connection wasn’t broken after the Fall and we’ve been… seeing each other in secret for a while[5]. You think…?’ She jerked her head vaguely upwards.

‘That might be enough for the Throne to accept you, yes,’ he nodded subtly. He’s never been bonded to anyone, and he didn’t ask because it was a generally understood rule that Demons Didn’t Talk About the Past, but… there were rumours about the connection between separated couples too. Just how strong it might have been. ‘And rest assured, I’m not going to try and execute you for fraternising with the enemy.’

At least she had the dignity to look mortified.

But really, they all had that in common, didn’t they? Amenadiel had Maze, Linda, and their son. Azrael was friends with Ella Lopez and cared about humanity a little more than Death should. Gabriel and Beelzebub were still together. Michael had direct numbers to Hell and wasn’t afraid to walk right into the lion’s den despite Lucifer’s unending grudge against her. Crowley and Aziraphale spoke for themselves. So did Lucifer himself. All things considered, only Uriel was the odd Archangel out.

To be quite honest, it was funny when you thought about it. What a _family_.

(And yet, regardless of any feelings of similarity and connection, they only got along in halves.)

‘I couldn’t’ve known that he’d… you know,’ Beelzebub said into the paper cup. She didn’t voice the thought out loud. _Survive_ [6].

‘Really? Or did you choose not to think about it and go through with your stupid little vengeance, the consequences be damned, whatever they might be?’ She didn’t say anything. Lucifer waggled an index finger at her. ‘We’re going to have to work on that. I know how real justice works now, the whole police and court shtick, in case you didn’t notice. Killing Ligur was clearly self-defence, and the Armageddon failure was all on the small humans if I understood it correctly. Not punishable by death.’

Beelzebub huffed. ‘Why is he _still_ your favourite, even after all this time?’

‘I don’t have favourites.’

‘Fuck off, you do. Him and that Lilim.’

‘And you’re avoiding the subject again, but no matter, I’ll let it slide. I know you’re one of the few who are still loyal to me in this institution, and I mean it.’ He leant back and spread his arms. ‘You’re already running the place anyway! So what do you say? King Beelzebub?’

It attracted the attention of several demons, who quickly returned to minding their own business after Beelzebub sent a deadly glare and some flies their way. She said, after a thorough _shhh_ directed at Lucifer, ‘If it worked, they’d all know that I’m—just like _him_ , being cosy with angels. They’d call me a traitor too.’

Lucifer settled on crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knee and kept his voice down.

‘Looking past the hypocrisy in that statement, I’m going to say the same thing I told Crowley: they tried to kidnap my baby nephew, they’re desperate for a new King. Anyone will do as long as they pay attention to them. And if you sit there and it accepts you, they’ll worship you even more than they already do.’

She downed the rest of her coffee and crumpled the cup. ‘I’ll… think about it.’

‘Excellent,’ Lucifer grinned. ‘One little secret for a whole realm is a reasonable price to pay, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It’s hardly _little_.’

‘You and Crowley are more similar than you think. Bloody hell, he used the exact same arguments.’ He shook his head. ‘Now excuse me, I need to set this suit on fire and cleanse my mind of the memory of this place. There’s a reason I never go here.’

‘They make decent frappuccinos though.’

‘No, they absolutely don’t[7]. Remind me to do something about that, by the way.’

He could employ some dead human baristas, perhaps, pull them out of loops. And order someone to wipe the tables more often than once a year. With soap. Demons were so _disgusting_ sometimes.

‘Sure. If that’s all, My Lord?’ she said, again with that mildly irritated eyebrow and a hint of sarcasm.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. He got up. The stickiness of the chair proved that slightly difficult. ‘I’m expecting an answer soon.’

Beelzebub crossed her arms. ‘And I’m expecting you not to forget it might not actually work.’

‘I’m not one for praying, but—I’ve let Hell run its own course with you on your makeshift throne for eight years, and look how that turned out. It needs a King on the Throne, so it better _work_.’

Lucifer turned to leave, but Beelzebub called after him. ‘Well, there _is_ another option.’

He turned around. ‘Is there?’

‘Your son.’

‘He’s eleven, _and_ he’d refuse. No, there’s only you, me, and Crowley.’

* * *

1 He didn’t dare see Chloe. If he did, returning to Hell and leaving her _again_ would become nigh impossible, he just _knew_ it. No, happy reunions were for after the crisis will have been dealt with.[✿]

2 Yes, named after him, obviously. He was the one who named it that.[✿]

3 Literally, in some cases. This was Hell, after all.[✿]

4 The options, of course, being Archangel and Archdemon.[✿]

5 Since the 14th century, to be precise. That one was home to a giant cock up on both sides’ Earth Agents’ part that involved both Gabriel and Beelzebub going to Earth personally to investigate _whose_ fault the Black Death was or wasn’t, since both took credit, and who was or wasn’t healing children in Italy. It was not a Pleasant Experience, and found them both at an inn near Paris in the end, really talking and _sharing a room_ for the first time since the Fall.[✿]

6 Need we remind you that they had no idea about their little switcheroo? No? Good.[✿]

7 He has tried it exactly one (1) time and would rather forget. It was about as far from good, Earth coffee as a watermelon was from being put on a pizza. It _was_ a vegetable—yes, really, however idiotic it might seem—but that didn’t mean it would be _edible_.[✿]


	10. Enemies Bound

Seven hundred years was, even for celestials, a considerable amount of time. It was almost 12 per cent of the Earth’s entire existence, for example, or the approximate decomposition time of a plastic bag, which really looked horrifying when juxtaposed like this. Beelzebub loved it. But if you asked her, she’d probably tell you that she had no idea how the fuck this whole thing was still working, after all this time.

The Whole Thing, of course, being her and Gabriel.

She was a demon Prince. He was an Archangel. They couldn’t be more different: working on completely opposite sides, disagreeing on everything from aesthetic to attitude towards food… hereditary enemies, they were. Oil and water[1].

And yet—can you really be enemies when you’re _married_?

And not just on a piece of paper like humans. For angels[2], marriage meant a _bond_. Your essence was entwined with another’s, you could always feel their presence, read their _thoughts_ if you wanted to. Which, yeah. _Trouble_ , when one of you Falls and the other doesn’t.

When it all happened, virtually everyone thought that the bonds would shatter and that the angelic essence would either dissipate or turn away from the light with them. But they were wrong. Not only did the couples remain connected; everyone kept their memories, as well.

 _Everyone_. It was the cruellest thing God has done.

Beelzebub would fight you on that. And win.

She was an excellent fighter—in the literal and figurative sense. But she couldn’t fight that connection forever. Especially not when both Gabriel and she became the representatives of their respective parties, which entailed regular, once-a-millennium business meetings. They’ve both changed, Gabriel into a self-obsessed, sanctimonious idiot and Beelzebub into a stoic, cynical force of demonic power, and the hate was _there_ , but that still didn’t keep them from eventually meeting outside work.

And then again. And again. And again[3].

And now they had a _house on Earth_.

Not as a permanent habitat, of course, but when the breaks in their busy schedules sometimes managed to coincide, they’d go there. Lots of fighting, fucking, eating, and paperwork was involved, usually. Sometimes they’d watch a stupid Earth film. Sometimes they’d do none of those things and lie on the bed in silence. It was very romantic.

That was the closest they ever got to how it’s _been_. But it could never be that again, no matter how much they tried to pretend sometimes.

Well.

Said house, located in Norway, was the place she went to instantly after she’d left the Starbucks, calling Gabriel to ditch his paperwork—which he brought with him—and to join her. That was one of the many perks of being the boss: not being questioned about this sort of thing.

But that was, ultimately, what this was about. She was the boss. Two days ago, Lucifer had offered her to be The Boss™ _because_ of her miraculously-glued-together marriage to that arsehole of an Archangel[4], and she didn’t know what to think.

Not to mention that it was bloody dangerous. Demons loved that sort of thing, don’t get her wrong, but this was a whole new level of dangerous. She could go _insane_ if it didn’t work.

However, Hell was fragile right now. More and more legions of demons rioted every day, Dromos and his lot were spreading hate against Lucifer, and half of the realm was still bitter about the Apocalypse thing. Lucifer would hold down the fort for as long as he remained in Hell, but he didn’t _want to_ , and that was the root of the problem.

There needed to be _someone_ on the Throne, and that someone had to be an Archangel. Or someone who would stabilise Lucifer’s claim enough for him to be able to keep the Throne but leave, since that was what he desired the most.

Beelzebub turned to the Archangel lying on the bed next to her, doing paperwork on his laptop. ‘How would you feel about ruling Hell?’ she asked, apropos of nothing, and put a forkful of beef risotto in her mouth.

He stopped typing and gave her an offended look. ‘I’m an angel, I can’t rule _Hell_ , Bee,’ he said, not surprisingly. ‘So you’re still unsure?’

‘No shit,’ she said, unimpressed, with risotto in her mouth. He hated when she did that, so she did on purpose, really. Just like he used that nickname.

Gabriel sighed. ‘Look, it’ll sort itself out, somehow.’

Beelzebub dropped the plate in her lap. ‘ _Sort itself out_? Are you actually listening to what comes out of your mouth? It’s _Hell_ , it can’t just _sort itself out_! Either Lucifer _miraculously_ regains the loyalty of the whole realm, or someone else sits on that chair, or both. If not, a lot of demons will end up dead and it won’t be the good kind of not-pretty.’

‘Yeah,’ he nodded, trying to be sympathetic. He wouldn’t understand. ‘That wouldn’t be good for you, huh? It would be for _us_ —’

‘Shut up.’ Beelzebub picked up the plate again and pointed her fork at him. ‘Do you want to be stabbed?’

‘No, I have work to do, obviously,’ he said and went back to typing. Rhetorical questions were too much for him, _obviously_. Although she also felt that he knew that she didn’t mean it.

She rolled her eyes and ate on. This was just the issue, too. Even if he or any other Archangel agreed[5], they didn’t know how Hell worked, what made it tick, all the odd rules, and where there were informal, spoken rules or no rules at all. Angels didn’t _belong_.

Heavens, Lucifer was starting not to belong. He’d _Risen_ , for the Al-bloody-mighty’s sake.

There were no good options. In any sense available, probably.

‘I don’t want everyone to know,’ she said after a while, resting her head against the headboard. ‘About us. Because they would. And _not_ just Hell.’

No, it would make the front page of the _Infernal_ _Times_ , which would undoubtedly get into angelic hands in the Earth Lobby, and from there, the news would only flourish. Things like this weren’t overlooked in Heaven.

‘I don’t either, obviously, do you have _any_ idea how it would ruin my reputation if they knew I’ve been in cahoots—’ She turned her head and glowered at him, which he didn’t see, but it didn’t matter. ‘Sorry. In a _relationship_ with a Prince of Hell for _centuries_?’

‘No, I really can’t imagine,’ she said dryly. ‘That’s why I’m hesitating, you dumb fucking bird. That and the possibility of going insane.’

Gabriel’s fingers froze on the keyboard. He blinked. ‘You’re…’

She quickly turned the other way again. Her plate sat empty on her crossed legs. ‘Don’t say it.’

‘Protecting me?’

‘I said _don’t say it_. No. I’m protecting my own interests[6], I’m a demon. It’s a thin line between King of Hell and losing everything. Hell’s _unpredictable_.’

‘Then convince Lucifer to stay there? Where’s the problem?’

‘He’s in love with Earth. And this… specific human, some _policewoman_ ,’ Beelzebub said bitterly. She felt Gabriel’s eyes studying her. ‘He’s even gone so far as to ask Crowley to take the Throne, that’s how much he wants to leave.’

He was furrowing his brow now. His essence was all shifty and turmoil-coloured. ‘What does Crowley have to do with anything?’

Beelzebub let that, and the confused tone of that statement, sink in. ‘You don’t know who he is.’

‘Why, of course, he’s the demon Crowley, seduced Aziraphale, stopped the War, survived his execution…’ he listed. ‘I know who he is.’

‘No, I—have you never met him?’

‘No, I don’t consort myself with demons—other than you, of course. Why?’

Right. Well, he was in for a surprise, then. She had promised to keep his identity secret once, but fuck it, that was a long time ago, and he didn’t even work for her anymore. Beelzebub was a demon, so naturally, he couldn’t trust her.

(It was too late now. He’d get it out of her anyway if he wanted to.)

Her head rolled to face him and said, ‘Crowley is _Raphael_ , you dunce.’

Gabriel snapped the laptop shut and gripped it so tightly his knuckles were white. The light of his metaphysical form intensified for a second there. ‘He’s fucking _who_?’

* * *

1 Also known as Oil Spill, a popular drink in Hell’s bars. There was also a Burning Oil Spill, which contained vodka and was—you guessed it—set on fire.[✿]

2 And demons, naturally, although it was highly uncommon to get married in Hell.[✿]

3 They have been _much_ better at it than Crowley and Aziraphale, though. _No one_ found out; only Michael, who was in touch with Hell herself and turned a blind eye, and now Crowley, being oddly observant for once and having pieced the puzzle together.[✿]

4 Whom she liked exactly because of that, but don’t tell anyone.[✿]

5 Amenadiel wanted to be with his family. Lucifer held too much of a grudge against Michael to want her there. Uriel held too much of a grudge against Lucifer for stabbing them with Azrael’s sword. Gabriel spoke for himself. Azrael was busy with their own duties as Death.

As he’d said, it was between him, Crowley, and Beelzebub. So.[✿]

6 Well… it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the full truth either, was it?[✿]


	11. The Devil You (Don't) Know

‘Don’t tell me you didn’t know he was…’ Beelzebub used her fork, which she’s been toying with rather annoyingly, to point vaguely downwards.

‘No, I knew, it’s not exactly something you can _forget_ ,’ Gabriel said and ran his hands across his face. He rubbed at his eyes, which were not tired from staring at a screen for hours, because that was a _human_ reaction, but suddenly felt that way anyway.

 _Raphael_.

Crowley. Raphael. His _brother_.

 _Crowley_.

The only appropriate reaction he could think of right now was _what the absolute fuck?_

‘No, that can’t be right. Crowley’s just a nobody, R— _he_ was an Archangel, he’d be like a Prince or something, right, not…’ he turned to face her, imagining that his face, as well as aura, was something desperate. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

‘You know I’m not. He willingly gave up the power,’ she said, slowly. There was a frown[1] across her brow. ‘And you _have_ met him, at the air base. We were there _together_ , Gabriel.’

‘Yeah, I—have.’ He mirrored her frown. Blue eyes stared at him, nudging him to go on. He blinked and tried to picture his smug little face. He said, condescendingly, ‘See? He can’t be Raphael; I’d have recognised my own brother, Bee. He looks nothing like him. Haha, good joke. Warn an angel next time though, yeah?’

Beelzebub narrowed her eyes. She was thinking really hard, he could tell. There was one word repeating: _memories_.

‘What _does_ he look like then, hmm? Think.’ She used the fork to jab his thigh.

‘Ow!’ he absolutely didn’t whine. He searched his memory archive for things he hasn’t dared bring up since It Happened. ‘Raphael, he… was the Healer. We created the stars together. Michael and he were my favourite siblings, always have been.’

‘But what did he _look like_? His _face_? Or wings?’

He tensed. He searched for an image, a clear one, but—

He—

Couldn’t find one. It was all strangely blurry, an obscure afterthought, a flash of black and something dark green, but nothing concrete. And, once more, Gabriel thought, _what the_ _fuck?_

He cleared his throat. ‘It’s been a long time, I must’ve ignored the memories and I can’t recall right now, but—’

‘You don’t know,’ Beelzebub stated.

And Gabriel released all the tension within him with a single exhale. There was just _something_ about the implications of that statement that tore right into his core. Tears threatened to well up in his very much disused lachrymal ducts. He forbade it. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Why don’t I know? I remember _you_ , I remember L—’

 _Lucifer_. Except. Did he?

The most beautiful of all the angels, with radiant pearl wings and a gift of the tongue that brought peaceful Heaven to its demise. He knew that. _Everyone_ knew that; it was in the records. But when he tried to recall his face—blank.

And he’s never met _him_ post-Fall, that was for sure. That’s why he’s always dealt with Beelzebub.

‘Fuck, I don’t remember him either. Lucifer. _Why_?! And why do I remember you and not them?’

‘Probably because of the bond,’ she said, in that voice that highly suggested that he was an idiot or something equally _rude_ and she was going to call him exactly that. ‘That’s—interesting.’

‘Interesting? _Interesting_? I’ve just found out that my _memories_ are altered!’

‘I assumed that everyone remembered, because we do, but…’ Beelzebub contemplated this, and then she, inexplicably, laughed. ‘There goes your Almighty, your Holy Father, your _unquestionable authority figure_ , being very holier-than-thou indeed!’

She shook her head, full of mirthful disbelief, and let him simmer in it on his own, getting up to carry the plate to the kitchen—only to leave it on the pile of unwashed dishes _he’d_ have to get rid of, no doubt. _Demons_.

Gabriel sighed and slumped against the headboard. What was he supposed to _do_ with all this information anyway, according to her?

He hated him. He wasn’t going to deny that. He hated Raphael for leaving their side in the War and being close to _Lucifer_ , asking all those inappropriate _questions_.

But he’s also regretted sealing his fate and sending him Down There with everyone else ever since. Gabriel hadn’t done anything to try and save him. He’d just watched and let it happen when one of his closest siblings Fell from Grace, as did his _spouse_ , and he’d stood there, flaming sword in hand and wings bloodied gold.

He’s found his way back to Beelzebub eventually, even if she was a demon and he despised everything they stood for. Their relationship could never be fully salvaged, and they could come to this house and do things he loathed himself for later because he was an _angel_ but loved anyway, but the past was sealed. No turning back.

He hadn’t even _tried_ to find Raphael.

Well, now he knew he wouldn’t have succeeded anyway.

Only—he’s been right here all along, apparently. And what a paradox, eh? He was the demon who fell in love with an angel and survived his execution. Count on Raphael to always be different and defy everyone’s expectations. That angel has always loved the stars more than Heaven and tried to get away. He’s tried to get away from Hell too, or so Beelzebub said.

It was obvious when you thought about it.

But really. _What_ was he supposed to do with the information? _Talk_ to him?

Yell at God, who wouldn’t answer anyway?

Gabriel threw the laptop on the empty side of the bed and got up. He needed a jog. Clear his mind with cold evening air and nothing but trees and the wind all around. He grabbed a grey sweatshirt from the wardrobe and pulled it on. He stopped by the kitchen first.

‘I need to get out for a bit,’ he said, pointing at the door. Then he was out.

Where were the protocols for finding out your once-close but now-more-than-estranged brother has been _that_ demon all along, but you didn’t know because someone—the big Someone, perhaps, probably, quite certainly, who else—had messed with your memories? Where were the good old attested precedents where he needed them? Some sort of list he could go through?

Should he tell the others? Did they know? Was it all angels, or just the highest of them?

He spent two hours running around the forest.

Beelzebub was watching something on that Net Flicks thing on his laptop when he came back. It was dark and bloody and set somewhere in the past if the clothes were any sign[2].

He dropped a kiss on top of her head and went to take a shower. They were good things, showers, as he’d found out. Yes, he could clean himself with a miracle just as well, but there was just _something_ about hot water and scented shampoo.

Which… only existed now because of Raphael. And Lucifer. The Antichrist was his disobedient brat, right, and he didn’t come and restart the Apocalypse because he was busy on the other side of the world, siding with the humans just as well.

They should’ve seen that one coming, too. Adam Young was _Lucifer’s_ son, so of fucking course he’d _rebel_ , and not do what he was told and ask questions instead. What a shocker, huh?

But if the Great War had happened, this house would’ve been reduced to ash with the rest of the planet, and he and Beelzebub would have to fight, for real, with weapons. They’d have to kill each other—and that didn’t exactly come easy when you could feel each other’s pain, did it?

(Whose side was he on, in the end?)

…Was _that_ why God had never severed the connections? Was Crowley _right_ about the Almighty’s Ineffable Plan? Well, he _would_ figure it out, wouldn’t he? He was _Raphael_ , God damn him. He’s always been _smart_.

Too smart.

Gabriel turned the water off after five or so minutes of introspective standing under the stream and dried himself off—with a purple towel, of course—and put on another pair of tracksuit bottoms and a plain t-shirt. They were the most comfortable to wear at h— _around the house_ [3]. And he knew Beelzebub appreciated the view.

‘Feeling better? Learnt how to deal with all the big boy feelings, have we?’ she asked, looking up and looking him over. She bit her lip. He knew what she was thinking, about the pants and the shirt.

‘Go ahead, mock me, your world wasn’t just turned upside down,’ he said with a big fat smile and took the laptop from her. The show was paused on some sort of battle scene—projecting much? He set it aside.

‘Yeah, because you’ve been thinking about it,’ she responded to that thought, rolling her eyes, but her voice was… melancholy? He still wasn’t too good with human emotions. Her form was a whirlwind of mixed feels, mostly _bored_ and _irritated_ and a dash of _horny_. ‘You, me, Lucifer, and I’m guessing that angel boyfriend of his are the only ones who know, by the way, since I was clearly wrong about your lot.’

‘Figures,’ he said, sitting on the bed. ‘And you’ve… this whole time?’

‘We were the first ones who crawled out of that burning lake together, Gabe, in case you forgot how excruciatingly memorable that was. Contrary to popular demon opinion, I’m not stupid.’

‘I never said you were.’

‘I’m saying _you_ are,’ she snorted. ‘One would think the mighty Archangels would know the whereabouts of their own Fallen Comrade, _especially_ because of that, and that they’d _notice_ if their memories were messed up. I may have let him get away with things and didn’t give him straight-out murder assignments[4], but I’ve kept tabs on him all the same.’

‘But you didn’t know he’d survive the execution,’ Gabriel stated.

‘No. You didn’t know Aziraphale would survive either,’ she shot back.

‘So you’d have actually killed him?’

‘As per our agreement, if I _remember it correctly_. Why, are you _mad_ now?’

‘Well the circumstances have changed, haven’t they?!’

‘Oh, have they?’ She gave him an enigmatic look. ‘Don’t tell me there’s going to be a family reunion.’

‘No, why would I _want_ that?’ he said, not entirely honest. It was very unangelic of him. Beelzebub raised a single eyebrow, seeing right through him.

He kissed her.

‘I’ve made up my mind,’ she then said, already pulling that shirt off over his head. He mouthed a _yeah?_ at her. ‘I’ll do it. I’ll sit on the Throne and see what happens. All those thoughts about Crowley… better the devil you know[5], as they say.’

* * *

1 A rather adorable one.[✿]

2 If you’re thinking of _Game of Thrones_ , you’re thinking wrong. It was _Vikings_.[✿]

3 Home. He wanted to say _home_. But it couldn’t be home, this house on the Norwegian coast, shared with Beelzebub. He refused it to be home. Calling it that would mean… Things, and he didn’t want to think about those Things.[✿]

4 Archangels, Fallen or otherwise, were not _allowed_ or _able_ to kill humans. It just wasn’t done. They had agents for that, stationed on Earth and ready to flash their Licence to Kill if needed, but not Archangels. You may remember Crowley persuading _Aziraphale_ to go through with his kill-the-Antichrist plan?[✿]

5 Which would be the actual Devil, but, you know. Beelzebub was certainly more of a devil than Crowley, and her secret was less of one compared to his. She could always lie and say she wasn’t seeing him. Demons were stupid; they’d lap up anything she told them.[✿]


	12. Between a Curious Demon and Science

‘Can you bless tap water and make it holy?’ Crowley asked idly. It’s been days. It was still nagging at him, the whole Rising thing. He tried to push it away, ignore it, then think about it really hard and find an explanation.

Needless to say, it wasn’t going well.

‘Yes, naturally, I’m an angel. It’s what I did with the thermos back in…’ Aziraphale trailed off. He gave him a look that was rightfully bordering on alarmed. ‘Whyever do you ask?’

‘I need to test something,’ he said. The words lolled on his tongue and felt all weird. Like ants. Biting.

Aziraphale put down the spoon he was using to stir spaghetti and rushed to the table. He took Crowley’s hands and gave them a squeeze. ‘Darling, if that’s about what _Lucifer_ said,’ he said, sternly, saying his former boss-slash-brother’s name like a rude word, ‘ _no_. Never. I won’t do that. I won’t have you risking your life to test a theory that came out of his mouth.’

Yes, Crowley _thought_ he would be fussy about this. He didn’t whine. ‘Discorporate me then. Or—let’s do that metaphysical sex thing angels do. Find a way to see more beyond wings and light. I need to know, Aziraphale.’

‘Crowley.’ He squeezed again. Broiling pasta water was about to flow over the pot’s edge and promptly thought better of it. ‘Darling. Don’t you think that if you’d Risen, even partially, we’d both know it?’

‘I know, I know,’ Crowley said. He’d thought about that too. ‘I know it doesn’t make sense, I don’t feel any different than I’ve always done, and my eyes are still—but Lucifer lost his Crispy Devil Face and got his wings and celestial light back. Same about Amenadiel. He lost his powers when he Fell[1]; I never did. I’ve always had dark wings. _God_ hadn’t made me a snake, I—I kept my Name, my form, like— _him_. After. I never told you that. Thought it was an Archangel thing, right, but now I— _ngk_.’

He wasn’t crying. It was just Aziraphale’s onion hands. He was making Bolognese sauce.

‘Oh, Crowley.’ Aziraphale reached to wipe a tear off his face.

‘You were chopping onions; you’re making it worse right now,’ Crowley said softly. It wasn’t actually a lie, in case someone needed clarifying.

‘Oh. Sorry,’ he pulled back, sheepish. A blush crept onto his cheeks. He looked everything an angel should be. A prime textbook example. A true Baroque lowercase-c cherub[2]. ‘But I mean it. Not that I don’t—blimey, imagine that, me and an actual—but I don’t—want you to change, Crowley, or feel obliged, or. I love you as you are. A wily old serpent.’

‘I know you do, Aziraphale.’ He gave him a small smile. ‘And I don’t want to see those buggers from Upstairs ever again. But I need to know, for myself. _Please_.’

Aziraphale wrung his hands and looked at him pleadingly. _He_. ‘Crowley, you know I can’t.’

‘Just a drop of Holy Water. I’ll dip my little finger in, and if it burns, you can cut it off. I can get a new arm.’

‘It’s still dangerous!’

‘Danger’s my middle name.’

‘I thought that began with a J?’ Aziraphale gave him a sceptical look.

‘It’s a figure of speech. Just—watch.’ Crowley got up and went right up to the cooker, where the pot of spaghetti and, more importantly, boiling water stood. ‘If I stick my hand in there, it should hurt my body, yeah? But it won’t, because I’ll tell it not to. Like riding the burning Bentley.’

‘Crowley—’

Too late. His right hand was submerged in pasta water now. He felt it bubbling around him, knew it was vaguely hot, but he knew it wouldn’t do any real damage, because he imagined his hand was perfectly alright. Which it was when he pulled it out. He wiggled his fingers. ‘See? Tickety-boo, that is. A bit tingly, like when I take a hot shower, actually. And if I’m right, I can do the same thing with Holy Water[3].’

Aziraphale blinked and rushed to join him. He inspected Crowley’s hand and scowled at him and his recklessness. Then he sighed, and his face became something of concern mixed with defeat. ‘You’ll do this with or without me, won’t you?’

Crowley shoved his hands deep into his fairly shallow pockets. ‘Yep. Nothing can come between a curious demon and science, angel. Facts.’

Maybe you remember that that had damned him in the first place.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Aziraphale took a shallow bowl and filled it with water from the tap. His eyes flicked uncertainly between Crowley and the bowl for a couple of seconds before he resigned and ran his hand over it. ‘There. Holy Water. But I’m _only_ doing this because I’d loathe to have you sneaking into the village church when I’m not looking, Crowley. It doesn’t mean I like it.’

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded. He stared into the bowl. It looked like perfectly normal water. Was Aziraphale sure it was Holy? Well, there was no way to know unless he tried, was there?

His heartbeat sped up with every further second he spent losing the staring contest with the bowl. He told himself to calm the Heaven down, fruitlessly, and out loud, he said, ‘It’s just water. It won’t hurt me.’

Funny enough, he believed it.

He shut his eyes and stuck a finger in the bowl. Aziraphale gasped.

The finger… didn’t feel like falling off. It felt wet. And cold. Of course it couldn’t be a nice lukewarm temperature. He opened one eye, and then the other.

He grinned. ‘See? I knew it. Fine as tits.’ He dunked the whole hand in the bowl for good measure. ‘I mean, I still don’t know if it’s because I believe it won’t hurt me or because I’m less of a demon than I thought, but. ‘Sssomething, eh? And don’t tell me you _didn’t_ actually bless it. ‘Cos that would be anticlimactic.’

‘No, I… did bless it, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said slowly. He swallowed, still trying to make sense of the whole situation. ‘This is—well, this is— _extraordinary_.’

Crowley took the hand out and dried it with a towel. He wrinkled his nose. ‘Thought you were gonna say _ineffable_.’

‘Well, I suppose it _is_ ineffable.’

‘Okay.’ Crowley blew a raspberry and looked the angel dead in the eye. ‘Well, I’m really gonna need you to discorporate me now.’

Aziraphale took a step back and said, ‘No!’

‘Just kidding, angel.’ Crowley laughed. He really got him! But. He squirmed under his scrutinising gaze and raised an eyebrow, because it would actually solve about 47 of his 99 current problems, if it came right down to it. ‘Unless…?’

Yes, he did know this was a meme. Yes, he did it on purpose. Yes, the angel was none the wiser.

‘No! Enough of that, and get out if you’re not going to help me with dinner,’ he said, going back to his onions and putting a lid on the spaghetti. He poured the Holy Water into the sink and put the bowl on the dish rack as if it hasn’t just changed history.

‘Gee, thanks for being so very kind,’ Crowley muttered. Aziraphale heard anyway.

He said, ‘I can bless this entire pot of pasta, Crowley, see how your insides like it.’

Crowley pressed a smile-shaped kiss against his forehead and retired to the table. ‘What would I do without your brutal honesty and being all over the place when it comes to “too soon” and “too late”.’

Aziraphale, used to conversations often spinning in the way of his outdated ways of life—Crowley’s words, not his, never his, God bless him—automatically replied with a, ‘Tartan is stylish!’

He gave the window a frown and poured chopped onions into a skillet. He took the minced meat, procured at the farmer’s market in Worthing, out of the fridge next. Crowley said, ‘Do we live in Scotland, angel? Because the last time I checked, this was Wessex.’

‘Oh, you— _foul fiend_ ,’ Aziraphale said. Crowley couldn’t see his face, but the backside wasn’t to complain about, either. Even if he wore too many layers for the fact this was _home_. ‘I know what you’re doing. It won’t work. I’ve got food to make!’

He sped up, as if he were actually nervous about burning the food. Crowley was reminded of some of the pre-Armageddon phone calls. Aziraphale’s mind was full of Ineffable Things. Crowley knew, because his was the same.

‘I—ngh—I’m not saying anything else now. Quiet as a mouse,’ he mumbled.

Aziraphale nodded. He stirred the onions. ‘Good.’

Crowley propped his head on his hand. ‘D’you think I’d have survived the bath?’

Yeah. So he wasn’t quiet as a mouse. This time, Aziraphale turned around, spoon in hand.

‘I—don’t know, Crowley. But if your theory is correct… I think you survived it now because you let yourself accept the _possibility_ and subconsciously reappraised the truths you’ve spent _centuries_ convincing yourself of. Lucifer told you that it wasn’t so… black and white, and you started to believe that that was the case,’ he said. As an afterthought, he added, ‘But I’m merely speculating here. It hardly makes sense to me.’

‘‘Course. Yeah. Thought so too.’

‘We’d have to test this some more to know for sure.’

‘Like I said. Need to see my true form.’

Aziraphale suddenly remembered the sauce he was making again, punctuating his inner monologue with a flick of the spoon, and went to add some more chopped vegetables to the near-caramelised onions. As he did that, he said, in a slow, contemplative voice, ‘If we bonded, we’d have parts of each other imprinted in ourselves, we could… see them. Feel them.’

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, as did his entire body, subsequently. ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’

Aziraphale considered this. He gave the mixture a stir and turned halfway to Crowley. ‘Well, the occasion could have been better, but—as a matter of fact, I am. It’s about time, no?’

‘About t—Heavens, angel, you don’t fuck around.’ If you asked Crowley what was most jarring about the sudden turn of topic, it was the by-the-way-ness of it all. Like it was a silly, trivial thing. After all these centuries of quiet suffering—

Well, he didn’t fuck around either, did he? ‘Also, that’s a yes.’

Aziraphale lit up. All of him. Especially on the celestial plane. ‘A yes?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I wanted nothing else since Eden, Aziraphale, are you daft?’

‘Oh. That’s—good then. Very nice.’ He giggled. ‘Do you think we can get married in Heaven?’

‘No, ‘m not doing that.’ He cringed. Too much was too much. But he _did_ kind of want to see Gabriel’s face if he marched up there hand in hand with Aziraphale… well, there were always guest invitations. 

‘You’re right. Neither am I if I’m being entirely honest. But if we are to bond, properly that is, we do need someone from my, err, former lot[4].’

‘Amenadiel. Or Azrael,’ Crowley suggested without batting an eye. ‘They’d do it on Earth. The latter’s even been at the air base, and if there’s someone who’d understand, it’s them. The only ones from my bunch worth talking to.’

He inwardly winced at the choice of words. _His bunch_. He hasn’t thought of the non-fallen Archangels in that way since… well, you know. _Since_.

He’s barely talked to them, too. The execution didn’t really count because he was wearing Aziraphale’s face, and Gabriel acted like he didn’t even recognise him at the air base. Crowley couldn’t blame him. Azrael he’s met a couple of times throughout history, and they got along okay, all things considered, but they were only the exception to the rule.

Aziraphale beamed at him. ‘Well, I’d never! _Bonded_.’

‘It’s only ever been you and me, angel,’ Crowley said, allowing himself to sound sentimental, even, and beamed back. The sizzling of the soon-to-be-sauce got louder. He waved in its direction. ‘You might need to stir that though.’

* * *

1 He knew about this, because he _might_ just have called Lucifer through the car radio once and successfully patched through to his office, last week. _Only_ to ask about Amenadiel. And his phone number, when he found out that brother of his had one. Just in case.[✿]

2 He had been an uppercase-C Cherub too, once. A mighty warrior carrying a flaming sword and guarding the Wall of Eden from the forces of Evil. Only… he’s never been all that good at it. He’s always been on the softer side, choosing pen over sword even before the expression had been invented. He didn’t guard Eden well enough and gave his sword away, and they demoted him for it. He went willingly though, for he knew he’d prefer it that way anyway. This was what they had in common, too, Aziraphale and Crowley. Both coming from power and rejecting it.[✿]

3 It didn’t quite work like that. Imagining Holy Water wouldn’t hurt wouldn’t be enough, not even for the only demon in all of existence who _had_ imagination. Deep, internal belief though, and enough conviction, might just.

Shh, let’s hear a secret: Lucifer believed himself a monster after the Fall, so he became one. Crowley had lots of feelings about it, but never _that_ one. He only knew being one was a necessity. A lowly snake demon who did cruel things and bragged in the paperwork. (Remember the improvise-adapt-overcome thing?) Except he never did actually do any of that, did he? A brilliant actor, Crowley was. Convincing even _himself_ of Things for so long that they became true.[✿]

4 An Archangel, to be precise. Crowley could do it himself, of course, but that would rather put a damper on the whole affair. Officiating at your own wedding? Who did that? And Lucifer wasn’t really an option to consider, both of them agreed at the same time, nonverbally.[✿]


	13. Hollywood Hills

Crowley was in Los Angeles.

Crowley’s never been to Los Angeles before, and he’d rather it stayed that way—especially now that he knew the city was Lucifer’s territory as much as London was theirs—but there were some conversations you simply couldn’t have on the phone even if you were a demon and strongly encouraged awkward break-ups and proposals over letter, e-mail, and text. Namely, asking one’s brother, whom one hasn’t seen for like a million years, to officiate at one’s wedding.

Aziraphale had suggested a summoning circle, but Crowley imagined he’d be none too pleased with that, so that idea had been dismissed as quickly as asking the personification of Death to do it was. No, Crowley was to find him and ask him personally. And where were Amenadiel’s last known whereabouts, according to Lucifer? Right here.

So here he was, having flown over the Atlantic and the entire United States and trying to make sense of this ginormous, Lego-block maze of a city that was bigger than bloody _London_.

He didn’t like the States[1]. Maybe you got that.

Well—he supposed he should start at LUX. Someone there probably knew Amenadiel, what with it being Lucifer’s club and all. Crowley took his mobile and looked up the address[2] and the fastest route. Right. West Hollywood, that wasn’t so far from here, was it?

You see, he currently found himself standing by the first O of the Hollywood Sign. It was a perfect navigational point, easy to spot from above and convenient to land on. He took a selfie with it, one that didn’t argue about proportions with him and showed the tall letter enough to be recognised, and then he pocketed the phone.

He took off again and descended into the City of Angels. There even _was_ an angel there somewhere, so, surprisingly enough, it wasn’t a misnomer, that.

 _Wasn’t Book Girl from around here?_ He thought he remembered her saying she grew up in Malibu, and wondered where she ended up after the Nopocalypse. Was she back here, or did she stay in England? He hasn’t thought of her and that odd bloke she’d called a boyfriend since.

Or the kid who was the _actual_ Antichrist and son of the entity who owned the building he was heading towards, halfway across the world. Life led you down strange and ridiculous paths sometimes.

It took about three minutes to get there. Crowley alighted on the balcony, which he suspected belonged to the flat Lucifer lived in, and walked inside, locked doors notwithstanding. He refused to look at the state of the Devil’s living room too closely, or at his plants, or at his alcohol, and found a lift.

As opposed to the English late evening, it was barely noon here. That was good; there wouldn’t be partygoers around, only the staff. Probably. Hopefully there _would_ be staff, or it would be all in vain.

The doors slid open with a ding. He guessed correctly that the club would be on the ground floor, judging by the empty dancefloor he was looking at from some sort of platform. He walked down the stairs and found the bar, where a woman was, thankfully, doing some paperwork—

No, hold on, wait a second. Crowley knew her. That wasn’t just a woman; that was a _demon_. The highest of the Lilim. Lucifer’s personal bodyguard and erstwhile mistress. Well, fuck.

Hoping to keep his limbs attached to his body, he put on a slightly constrained grin and sidled up to the bar with all the charisma he could muster. But he still wasn’t Lucifer.

‘Heeey, Mazikeen, long time no see!’ he said. It’s been a century at _least_. ‘Pour a fellow demon a drink, will you?’

She narrowed her eyes at him, and made no move to drop her pen and procure said drink. ‘ _Serpent_. What are you doing here?’

‘Listen, I’m just looking for someone, and I want to avoid trouble if possible, don’t really want to be here myself, so the sooner you give me the information I need, the sooner—’

‘No, I meant—how did you get here? Lucifer banished all demons except me back to Hell.’ Mazikeen crossed her arms. She measured him under her piercing gaze, and it was _not_ nice. He squirmed in his chair.

‘Dunno anything about that, was in England. And I flew here,’ he said, flashing another smile.

‘Hmm.’ There was a blade in her hand all of a sudden. Crowley _really_ didn’t like this. He was beginning to think there was something more to what she said and didn’t want to probe the subject further lest he find something that would change his life, _again_. But she only shook her head and put the demonic blade back where it came from, somewhere in her very tight outfit, probably. He had to admit she had _style_ , for a demon. ‘Whatever, that’s his problem, not mine. What do you want?’

‘Do you perhaps know where I could find Amenadiel? Archangel, dark skin, about yay tall?’ He held his hand significantly higher than her head.

She snorted. Then her face went back to being all menacing. ‘I perhaps do. Question is, why should I tell you?’

‘I just need to have a chat with him, is all,’ Crowley said. He didn’t think it would be wise[3] to get into too much detail here. ‘I’m not going to try and kidnap his kid and bring him to Hell or something, I don’t work for them anymore.’

The look she gave him wasn’t a convinced one.

‘If I did, would I tell you that, hmm? Seriously, he’s my brother and I need to talk to him, so, where is he? We’re wasting each other’s time here.’

‘Guess you’re a bit less stupid than the rest of them,’ she said. ‘He’s never mentioned having _you_ for a brother though. And believe me, we were _close_.’

‘Don’t suppose he would.’ Crowley frowned. ‘ _Close_? Like—’

Mazikeen leant against the counter, dangerously close. ‘Yup.’

He grimaced and nodded contemplatively. Now _that_ was something he didn’t see coming. Amenadiel, having a child with a human and having had something with a _demon_? Were _all_ Archangels bloody _hypocrites_?

Well, it somewhat hilarious[4], in any case.

Barring the fact that she’d had sex with two of his brothers[5]. He had oddly mixed feelings about that.

‘Well, what a twist, eh?’ he grinned, for real this time. ‘We’re not actually so different, you and I. Might’ve even been friends in some other life.’

‘Lovers, maybe,’ she said, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger.

Crowley felt the sudden urge to flee. Not that she wasn’t _terribly_ attractive, but he didn’t want to be the third sibling on her list, thank you very much. And besides, ‘Sorry, I’m engaged to someone else. Which is why I’m here to begin with. So, for the last time, where can I find Amenadiel?’

‘Pity. I’d have enjoyed you.’ She shrugged and picked up the pen. On a piece of paper torn from a corner of some sort of form, she scribbled an address and handed it to him. ‘Here. If you hurt him, Linda, or Charlie, I’ll at least enjoy tearing you apart.’

She gave him a falsely sweet smile. It was as disconcerting as Aziraphale’s overly polite ones.

Crowley gulped. ‘Sure. Point taken. I’ll—go now. Yeah. Thanks.’ He slid off the chair and turned to leave. He quickly found the exit and, glancing at the address, sauntered its way.

‘Wait, Crowley?’ Mazikeen called after him. He whipped around. ‘Thanks, for… the Apocalypse thing. I love Earth too, you know, and my friends. I’d do anything to protect them too, so I’m glad it didn’t end.’

He nodded. He _wasn’t_ about to tell her that all the credit there belonged to a confused chattering nun and Adam Young. He wasn’t about to gape at her either, for saying such an undemonish thing. They really _were_ a lot alike, weren’t they?

Would you look at that. Aziraphale and he have spent so long thinking they were the only angel and demon who saw the wonders of Earth, but apparently, they were wrong. Lucifer, Amenadiel, Mazikeen.

( _How different things might’ve been if we’d known all along? Maybe there would’ve been no trials_ , Crowley thought. _Maybe we could’ve stopped it sooner._ )

He walked out of the club and stopped at the pavement outside, entering the address into Google Maps and then deciding to call an Uber because he couldn’t exactly pull his wings out on a busy boulevard. It arrived late, as per usual, and he busied himself playing Angry Birds with the music on for the whole ride. He paid the driver with conjured money and waved them goodbye without a word. He looked around. Right. His brother lived in a neat little white-picket-fence house, it seemed.

He licked his lips and walked up to the door. He shouldn’t be nervous; he was a _demon_.

Or a demon-adjacent being at least, shut up.

He rang the bell and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans while he waited. When the door finally opened, a blonde woman with a baby stood there, asking how she could help him. He barely registered that. He felt some _seriously_ potent celestial energy surrounding the child, and he could see faint outlines of growing wings, too.

A fledgeling. He was definitely at the right address.

Said fledgeling—Charlie, probably—held out his tiny, pudgy hand to him.

‘Hello? How can I help you, sir?’ asked the woman again, and Crowley snapped out of it.

‘Hi. The name’s Crowley. Is Amenadiel home?’

‘Yes, he is. May I ask why? I’m Linda, by the way, and this is Charlie.’ He was still reaching for him, with both hands this time, and making lots of gurgling sounds. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not usually this fussy.’

‘Hi, little one.’ Crowley let him grab at his finger. Charlie smiled. To Linda, he said, ‘Nah, ‘s fine, I’ve always liked kids. And it’s an, erm. Family matter. _You know_. I suppose you do know[6]?’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘ _Oh_. I’ll go get him then. Can you wait here?’

He did, sort of hovering on the doorstep and glancing around the street. He could hear voices coming from the inside, since the door remained open. The angelic presence was there; he could feel it.

If he paid more attention to its attitude, then he would probably notice that it wasn’t exactly _happy_. But he didn’t, and so, instead of standing face-to-face with his brother and maybe getting out a short monologue on why exactly he has sought him out after all this time, he found himself at the business end of a very-much-angelic blade, stormy eyes bearing into his.

‘You’re no brother of mine, _demon_. Nice trick, because Linda wouldn’t know—but why are you _really_ here?’

* * *

1 He’s ventured to North America post-Declaration of Independence exactly twice, once in 1929 and once in 1969*. Neither visit had left a good impression, and he silently vowed to himself never to return unless absolutely necessary. He’d much preferred the ancient civilisations of South America, back in the day.

*It was 2019 now. Crowley would probably think this was a funny coincidence if he believed in coincidences.[✿]

2 It never failed to do exactly what Crowley needed it to do even without Wi-Fi or mobile data. Constantly minding whether any of that was turned on was for mortals.[✿]

3 Which was perhaps the wrong conclusion to make, as he’d realise if he noticed that she was _protecting_ him.[✿]

4 As Lucifer said—Uriel was the only odd one out, not having dalliances with or befriending humans and/or members of the Opposite Side, whichever one that actually was.[✿]

5 Mazikeen had been with Lucifer, and then with Amenadiel, and then with Eve, who was Lucifer’s ex and the second wife of Adam, whose first wife was Lilith, Mazikeen’s mother. Speak of complicated.[✿]

6 As if having a baby with an angel wasn’t enough evidence to logically conclude that yes, she did absolutely know, and there was no need to question it.[✿]


	14. True Colours

‘Thanks for the warm welcome,’ Crowley said, more brazen than he probably should be in this situation. He pressed his index finger against the blade and carefully pushed it aside. ‘But I’m sure this isn’t necessary. Come on, d’you not recognise me?’

‘You’re the Serpent of Eden,’ Amenadiel said. He didn’t bring the sword back up, which was a good sign. ‘The Creator of the Original Sin.’

Well, true enough. He nodded.

‘Okay, so, let’s think about this, alright? I’ve always been loyal to Lucifer—well, in a way—at least until I quit—and you’ve got a good relationship with Lucifer, or so I’ve heard. He went to Hell to protect Earth and, and, all of you from demons who didn’t want him as King. I helped stop the Apocalypse. I’m on your side, okay? I won’t hurt your son, or Linda. I’ve just come to talk, is all. Just talk.’ He lifted his hands to emphasise the point. ‘I completely understand your caution though, I do. I mean, I wouldn’t trust a demon on my doorstep either were I in your shoes.’

Assuming this _was_ about the recent kidnapping, that is.

Amenadiel finally let the sword vanish back into the ethereal plane and stepped aside. Linda was standing by the staircase, rocking Charlie in her arms and watching them with a concerned look. Crowley entered the house and closed the door behind himself.

‘What did you want to talk about, then?’ Amenadiel asked. Crowley could finally get a good look at him, and all he had to say was that he wasn’t sure whether the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing were an improvement or something much, much worse than his usual robe[1].

‘Yeah, we might need to sit down for that,’ he said. He scratched his scalp. ‘Bit of a long story.’

Linda approached them and said, ‘Why don’t we all move to the sofa? I’ll get you some coffee.’ She handed Charlie to Amenadiel, who didn’t argue with her. A nod of his head told him that they would do just that.

‘Thanks. I take it black, one sugar,’ Crowley said. With a somewhat uncomfortable swing to his gait, he moved to said sofa and plopped down near the edge. Amenadiel followed suit, the Nephil baby safe in his arms.

‘I’m sorry for that, but I haven’t exactly had pleasant encounters with demons lately,’ he said. Crowley nodded and let out a noncommittal noise. ‘I’ve got to protect my son. Maze told me that Lucifer was holding on in Hell but things were still unstable, so I’m worried that they might try something again. How _is_ Lucifer, by the way? Have you spoken to him lately?’

Crowley blew out his cheeks. ‘Well, like I said, I don’t work for him anymore. I’m a free demon, me,’ he said. ‘But he’s having a hard time and really wants to leave, as far as I can tell. He’s looking for replacements.’

‘Replacements? Who?’

‘Well, he asked—’ Crowley flinched. He still didn’t like talking about it[2]. ‘Me. And Beelzebub, because of the whole—how much do you know, exactly? I take it you’ve been here around the End Times?’

He hadn’t _seen_ him in Heaven, at any rate. Given what Lucifer had told him, that was the most likely scenario, so really, there was no way of telling how much he knew. Probably not about Beelzebub and Gabriel.

‘Yeah, I have,’ he said. Charlie gurgled again. ‘I’ve been to Heaven afterwards, to help them reorganise things and to get it back into order, so I’ve heard about what happened. That the Antichrist stopped it, and that my siblings blamed you and Aziraphale for it. But you survived. Which brings me to my next question, or several, actually.’

‘Yeah, go on,’ Crowley prompted him. He played with the strands of his Scarf-Necklace-Thing.

‘One, how _did_ you survive? Two, if only Archangels can sit on the Throne, why did he ask you or _Beelzebub_? Is there something I don’t know? Three, why _are_ you here? Why come to me? We never spoke.’

O—kay.

There was a lot of things wrong with that. Crowley’s brain couldn’t even begin to sort them all.

Before he could let out so much as an incomprehensible syllable, Linda brought the coffee and sat in an armchair next to the sofa. Crowley reached for what was clearly his cup just to have an extra second to think and looked between them. ‘Erm, are you sure…?’

‘Linda stays,’ Amenadiel said, throwing a small smile her way. He didn’t take his coffee. It would be a bit difficult with the baby in his arms unless he wanted to go for a quick miracle. ‘She was the Devil’s therapist, she knows everything.’

Well. That made a lot of sense, actually. Lucifer did mention having one.

‘Ohh, that’s you, right, should’ve thought so,’ Crowley said to her. ‘By the way, I guess you’re indirectly responsible for the biggest existential crisis I’ve had since Falling. Which brings me to the subject on hand—’

‘ _Falling_?’ Linda asked, incredulous. ‘I thought Lucifer was the only Fallen angel[3]?’

‘Did he tell you that?’ Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. ‘No, there are two kinds of demons, the Fallen and the Hellions, like Mazikeen. There’s more of us Fallen, and they sort of hate us.’

“Entitled Bastards”, was what they called them. They envied them their rights, as if one of them didn’t hold the post of Head Torturer for centuries because she’d fought her way to the top and proved everyone wrong about the Hellions. Dagon only grabbed it _afterwards_. And Lilith herself was no low-ranking nobody either. If you asked Crowley, he’d probably tell you this big divide between the Lesser and the Greater Demons was bloody preposterous—look, everyone was equally miserable in the end anyway!

‘Okay,’ Linda said. He could tell that she was wishing for a notebook where she could note things down. ‘Okay, that’s interesting. What’s this about me being indirectly responsible for an existential crisis, now?’

‘Right. Yeah, so, I’m going to try to explain myself now, one issue at a time. I hate how much this feels like a therapy session, by the by. Or an interrogation. Or both.’ He took a large gulp of coffee and tried to sprawl as much as the sofa would allow him. ‘Guess it kinda is both.’

Amenadiel’s prodding look nudged Crowley to get on with it. Charlie has, inexplicably, fallen asleep in his lap.

‘Alright, so you know about the trials, and I’m guessing me and Aziraphale being… you know.’

‘Together. Yeah, I know,’ he nodded. He glanced at the bundle of heavenly joy in his arms and then back at Crowley. ‘Five years ago, I’d have probably stood there with the rest of them, but now… now I know love is a wonderful thing and Heaven is hardly faultless. I’m glad for you two.’

He didn’t need to explain who _they_ were.

Also, Crowley was nearly taken aback there. Nearly.

‘Who’s have thought? Thanks.’ He turned to Linda. ‘I’m dating an angel. It wasn’t exactly allowed if you catch my drift.’ He sipped at his coffee again. It was just as he liked it, hot, dark, and bitter with just a hint of sweetness that felt like something he shouldn’t be allowed to have.

‘Anyway, we left Heaven and Hell and moved into a cottage in the South Downs—that’s on the south coast of England—kind of like you guys here. It was all nice and peaceful, and then, like two weeks ago, Lucifer showed up. He was asking me to take the Throne, as I’d said. I said no, obviously, I mean—I left for a reason! I don’t want demons knowing who I am!’ He finished the coffee off and licked his lips as he placed the cup on the coffee table. He focused on Amenadiel. ‘Sorry for barging in on you after all this time, by the way; I know I’m a bit of a persona non grata Up There and we haven’t spoken since—why are you staring at me like that?’

Amenadiel was, indeed, staring at him like a lion might stare at a pair of skis and a mound of snow. Crowley’s brain caught up and remembered the question. _Why did he ask **you** or Beelzebub? _

‘Amenadiel, I asked this before and I’ll ask again. Do you not recognise me?’

‘Besides pictures, I’ve never seen you in my life,’ he said, brow furrowed.

‘You said you were his brother,’ Linda noted. She used her cup to point between them. ‘What’s going on here?’

Crowley ran his hands over his face, under the sunglasses. ‘Yeah, I’d love to know that too, actually,’ he said. His voice was muffled by the hands.

Did he not remember him? Has he never thought of him in all this time, not once? Was it something else? It wasn’t that Crowley wasn’t entirely displeased with that; he’s spent all of his Fallen life hiding his identity from Hell—and they were stupid, they wouldn’t recognise him like this, wings hidden, serpent eyes, no proper rank[4]. But he’s also thought that Heaven knew.

Aziraphale had said it once: they kept all their memories.

So… it was also remarkably _disturbing_. 

‘My siblings, my actual siblings, are the Archangels,’ said Amenadiel. To Linda, not to Crowley. ‘And two of them Fell. Lucifer, obviously, and Raphael, but…’

His gaze slipped at Crowley, who sat a little straighter. He pushed his glasses up into his hair and _blinked_. ‘You don’t remember me,’ he stated. ‘Because I _am_ —’

‘You can’t be. No, you can’t be _him_.’

‘Well, I am. I was. Raphael. I’m your brother, Amenadiel, and Charlie here is my nephew, and I—I apologise but he’s too young to notice anyway—I have no _fucking_ idea why the _fuck_ you don’t remember that, because Lucifer does, and Azrael does, and I always assumed that Gabriel just ignored me, but—well,’ he snorted. ‘I guess it makes sense now.’

The ignoring thing, that is. And the sword earlier.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Amenadiel said, shaking his head. ‘You’re just a low-ranking demon, Crowley, Raphael was—he was—why can’t I remember his _face_?’

That still _didn’t_ make sense.

Linda, bless her, just stared at them, watching the exchange like a rather confusing game of verbal tennis. Crowley stood up. He let out a deep sigh and said, ‘Remember now, then?’

He unfolded his wings. And when he said _wings_ , he meant all _four_. They almost didn’t fit into the room, and he could feel how dishevelled his primary pair was, because he hasn’t taken it out and into the physical plane of existence since the nineteenth century[5], but it was also _amazing_.

Precisely because of that.

He flapped them in the air. Colours shimmered on black, reminiscent of the shards of the green rose chafer. Amenadiel and Linda sat there, mouths agape, and Charlie, that little fledgeling, woke up and laughed at him, waving his hands about again.

For some reason, he _liked_ Crowley.

‘It’s really you,’ Amenadiel said, ‘brother.’

‘Yeah, yeah, so now that we’re on the same page here, which is a rather rocky beginning of a thick chapter on God messing up your memories of me, probably…’ He folded his wings and performed his over-practised miracle to keep the first pair concealed. ‘Where was I? Oh, right. I came here to ask you to perform the bonding ritual between me and Aziraphale.’

* * *

1 Not that he got much of a good look at him since the Fall, but old memories were enough.[✿]

2 He, naturally, supposed that Amenadiel remembered who he’d been, which was where things got complicated… But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.[✿]

3 He certainly didn’t say otherwise, and neither did Maze. That was the problem with Hell, wasn’t it? That demons couldn’t sit on the throne because they didn’t have wings? Or so she thought. It wasn’t like Lucifer was too liberal with the information about his family, and the business. He’s never mentioned having a demon for a brother, for a start.[✿]

4 Most of them didn’t even know he—Raphael—had been on the losing side. That was the power of Lucifer. Everyone else disappeared when he was near. Many angels in Heaven didn’t either, thinking he was off in the stars somewhere. Mostly because the Archangels never did anything to refute that notion.[✿]

5 It was just post-Big Depression Nap, and he was sure no one would come there and see him then when they didn’t know he was _awake_. And _that_ had been a millennium or two since the last time.[✿]


	15. Of Ice and Fire

Beelzebub didn’t knock on the door to Lucifer’s office. Manners were for angels. She simply walked in.

Lucifer, who was clearly very busy trying not to fall asleep over paperwork, looked up. His head was balanced on his hand. ‘Prince Beelzebub,’ he said, almost sounding surprised to see her.

‘My King,’ she replied and added a curt nod. She walked all the way to his ancient, stone desk. This was the Castle. Everything here was ancient, unlike the insides of her Earth Affairs building.

He snorted. ‘Am I?’

‘Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m ready. I’ll do it.’

It’s been almost a week. No sense in dilly-dallying, was there? She’d had her little holiday with good food and fresh air and her husband—to use a stupid human term, anyway—in her bed. It was time to get back to work.

‘Oh, are you?’ Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up. His body followed, and he looked way too alive all of a sudden. ‘That’s wonderful news! Probably. I take it you’ve talked to Gabriel?’

‘I did. As a matter of fact, I’ve made some juicy discoveries. But first,’ she said, glaring, ‘I want no nosey spectators. This happens on my terms.’

Well, there would always be an audience in Hell, but a couple of stray demons who found themselves in the area and bested by their curiosity and need to gather good watercooler[1] gossip were manageable. She didn’t want a big crowd in case things didn’t exactly come up Beelzebub. The execution was a lesson learnt.

‘As you wish. I’ll tag along though.’ He made a pointer in the air, oddly excited. She was beginning to have a bad feeling, and it wasn’t the good kind.

‘Whatever. So erm, can we go?’

She wasn’t fucking _nervous_ , no matter what the flies circling around her head might _think_. She wanted to get this over with, whether it be becoming ten times more powerful than she was now or making life a lot more difficult for a lot of beings. _Game of Thrones_ had nothing on this, but if she absolutely had to draw a comparison between the situations, she was Ned bloody Stark going to King’s Landing right now. There was an equal chance of fame and fortune and a metaphorical beheading. So, not nervous. But on the kind of edge that made her snap unfortunate demons in half when they got in her way.

‘Right now?’ Lucifer asked.

She snapped, ‘Yes, obviously. When else, next year?’

He laughed. ‘I see. Well, it’s not like I want to be signing a gazillion of forms anyway. I knew why I always outsourced my paperwork on someone else, even in LUX.’ He got up and buttoned his jacket. ‘Lead the way.’

As soon as they walked out of the office, which was more of an audience chamber, really, complete with a hearth and tapestries[2] lined along the walls, Beelzebub pulled out her wings, rust and blood and fire-coloured. She took flight, with Lucifer and his white, pearly—pearly, bloody hell!—wings right behind her, and made a beeline[3] for the high seat forged from the very fabric of the realm and bound by the remnants of raw Archangelic power of creation. It loomed above all of Dis, a landmark visible from every corner of the city.

It was healthy respect that she felt, she told herself as she drew nearer, and not dread of what it might all mean.

‘What discoveries have you made, then?’ Lucifer asked, catching up with her. ‘Something to do with the Throne, I hope? Or sexual activities? You did say _juicy_ …’

‘ _That_ is none of your business,’ she said. ‘No, it’s about memories. Or rather the lack thereof.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, perplexed.

‘Gabriel doesn’t remember that Crowley was Raphael, and neither do the others, I presume. And he doesn’t really remember you either,’ she said. ‘What you looked like, I mean. Him too, that’s why he’s never made the—connection.’

Lucifer halted mid-flight[4]. ‘Hang on, can you say that again?’

‘You heard me,’ Beelzebub said. She stopped too and crossed her arms.

‘That doesn’t make bloody sense!’

‘Yeah, no shit. I wonder if the serpent knows…’ She shook her head and turned back around. The Throne was dangerously close. ‘Let’s get a move on.’

In truth, they could’ve been there three minutes ago. Angels, Fallen or not, could fly faster than the speed of light if they wanted to. But they didn’t. Especially not Lucifer, who was falling behind, all confused. Maybe it wasn’t the brightest idea to tell him now, but then again, what was ever bright in Hell besides his own wings[5]?

Well, not the seat, that was for sure. It didn’t look like anything special—just a seat of dark rock, at the first glimpse. Ragged and uncomfortable as anything, harmless otherwise. Only the material itself was anything _but_.

‘Here we are, then,’ Lucifer said. ‘God, how I hate this thing.’

‘Thanks, that’s very supportive.’

‘No, but you love it here. I don’t. For me, this chair has become a prison. I’ve tried to escape, but as it turned out, the other inmates hated it when the gang leader suddenly stopped paying attention to them. I had to come back, but at the price of leaving my new life behind, and the gang will only listen to me while I’m _physically_ here. They’d be happier with a new leader, and we all know that.’

Beelzebub gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up and an over-exaggerated smile. Oh Lord, Gabriel was rubbing off on her. Well, best get on with it and hope that he really did, eh?

She flew above the chair and slowly lowered herself into it.

It felt—weird. Energy surged all around her and through her like electrical impulses and caffeine shots and very poisonous jellyfish tentacles all at once. It lasted for a few seconds and days at the same time. Her corporation felt like disintegrating from all the power it was taking in. She shut her eyes and seized the armrests in a white-knuckled grip.

She could feel all of Hell in her mind. She could feel it _probing_. Biting. Stretched in front of her and under her and all around. The realm responded to whoever sat on the Throne and acted on their orders, changed, reshaped. It allowed them to know what was going on where and how many humans were in loops and how many have just got in and how it grew and how the rivers flowed—

It found the bit of Archangel essence in her. That was why her body was still intact. It didn’t reject her straightaway and burn her down to nothing. But it was _confused_.

It was a two-way system, this. It was built to recognise the power of Archangels and Archdemons, and they were the only ones with real, corporate bodies and a large enough mind to take it all. It was known. Some demons have tried to test it in the past, and either went mad or discorporated on the spot. Or both. That was known too.

Knowing was nothing like _experiencing_ it, though.

All six of her wings popped into the material plane and enveloped her body in a sort of cocoon. But the prodding was relentless, and bees and ants were crawling all over her, eating her away atom by atom.

Fuck, how could Lucifer _cope_ with this? Storing millions of simultaneous perceptions in his head?

Well, not well, she guessed. There were _noises_ too, not just images and thoughts, and if she’s never experienced sensory overload before, well, she did now.

She screamed.

Then she felt something else touching her wings, something physical, and suddenly she was cold and shivering and no longer touching the ice-cold and lava-hot stone.

She forced her eyes to open. Lucifer was holding her and speeding towards the ground.

She’d thought it wouldn’t work, hadn’t she? Well, call her pessimistic—a natural state for a demon to be, except for _that_ optimistic snake bastard who thought everything would always work out and whose fault it was anyway!—but Hell _never_ made it easy on anyone.

That was why it was _Hell_.

‘So that didn’t work…’ she said.

‘Fuck! Fuck, of course it didn’t fucking _work_ , you can be a Seraph and shagging Gabriel himself but you’re not and never will be an Archangel, and I’m _never_ trusting Crowley again, _fuck_!’ Lucifer shouted. He landed on the rocky ground. Demons were staring. ‘Mind your own bloody business, King’s orders!’

Beelzebub folded her wings. She took a deep breath and tried to miracle the ache permeating her entire corporation away, but couldn’t. ‘If it helps anything, I am actually sorry,’ she said.

‘Yeah, well,’ he scoffed. ‘Looks like I’m going to have to go talk to my siblings or stay here forever, and I don’t know what’s worse[6]. But you tried, eh? I won’t hold this against you, would be unfair.’

Beelzebub wanted to respond with something along the lines of _when are any of us ever_ , but she didn’t get the opportunity.

She passed out, and somewhere at the back of her whirling mind, she felt her body finally give in.

* * *

1 Not that you could find cool water in Hell. It was lukewarm at best and having a strong chemical aftertaste at worst, as if someone went to a thermal pool in Hungary’s busiest waterpark and hooked the sulphuric, brown, polluted water that went out for filtering to Hell’s tap instead.[✿]

2 They mostly depicted scenes from the War in Heaven and the Fall, in case someone felt like forgetting about it and moving on. It was all, of course, made by demons soon after settling in their new kingdom, so they came out looking triumphant and altogether The Best. You can imagine the Bayeux Tapestry if you’ve ever heard of it, only a bit darker and with a lot more winged beings.[✿]

3 Or should we say flyline?[✿]

4 Angels, like hummingbirds, could keep still in one place while suspended in the air. It had less to do with wing movements and more to do with the ability to manipulate space and gravity around them, though.[✿]

5 The Phlegethon, that was what. A river of Hellfire that wound its way through the city and worked as a natural streetlight.[✿]

6 Especially now that he’s found out that there was something wrong with their memories. What exactly did they know or didn’t know? Well, they _would_ know that he was the Devil and could be found in Hell, but beyond that? He was even less eager to talk to them now.

But at the same time, he was curious to know what and why and who and how…[✿]


	16. Two and a Half Celestials

The time Amenadiel took to say something felt longer than 23 seconds.

‘The bonding ritual?’ he asked, his aura a clear indicator of increasing confusion. ‘But you’re an angel and a demon. Wouldn’t that make you incompatible?’

Yeah, there was this. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given that a thought. Angel, demon, probably explode—that was the initial thought, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like there were any other angels and demons who have delved right into the exploration of the proscribed, and each other. But there _had_ been, and Crowley knew that _those_ bonds still existed.

Crowley had also said he’d explain himself. He plopped right back onto the sofa and clicked his fingers in his direction. ‘Ah! That brings me to Point Two. No, actually, Point One-and-a-Half. Did you know that Beelzebub and Gabriel were still together?’

Probably. But even a blind demon could see[1] _those_ auras at the air base.

‘I knew that the existing bonds were never severed. He told me about it once. But—’ Amenadiel’s eyes, and his aura, lit up. One more literally than the other. ‘That’s why you suggested Lucifer should ask Beelzebub to take the throne.’

‘Yep. I wouldn’t put my money on it, but if she’s—anyway, bonds between angels and demons are possible. They’re just slightly…’ He scrunched up his nose. ‘Unconventional.’

If a definition of _unconventional_ in a dictionary somewhere was _barely acknowledged, bordering on taboo, but reluctantly tolerated_ , anyway.

Linda cleared her throat, and three pairs of eyes landed on her. ‘So, I have like a _tonne_ of questions right now and probably not enough time to go through them all,’ she chuckled anxiously, ‘but the Archangel Gabriel and the demon Beelzebub are a _couple_?’

Crowley frowned at her choice of words without really meaning to.

‘They were married before the Fall, as angels,’ he said. He wasn’t keen on bringing up those memories right now, or any memories, really, but he’d come here with a purpose. ‘Right, so, back to Point Two. You know how I said that Lucifer visited me once? Well, he might’ve told me a bit about you. And angels self-actualising. I couldn’t stop thinking about it since, and I’m actually immune to Holy Water, and—’ He snorted. It sounded dangerously close to a sob. ‘Yeah. Guess I’m looking for answers too.’

Amenadiel took a breath to take it all in. ‘Raphael—’

‘Don’t call me that,’ Crowley snapped, the atmosphere in the room suddenly growing gloomier. Or maybe that were just his sunglasses deciding to slide down onto his nose.

‘I’m sorry, Crowley. I… still can’t believe it,’ he said. His words were heavy, as if he’s only just begun to let them sink in. Charlie gurgled again, blissfully unaware of anything that was going on. Crowley’s eyes landed on him.

He let out a choked, ‘That makes two of us.’

‘Three, actually,’ said Linda. She gulped down her coffee and got up. She looked at Amenadiel and asked, ‘Will you explain this to me? Properly?’ He nodded. ‘Okay. Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to talk, seems like you have a _lot_ to discuss. Are you okay with Charlie?’

‘Yeah, he seems to like the company,’ he beamed at his son. ‘And I like having him close. Unless Mommy will miss him too much?’

‘No, I need the bit of quiet, to be honest. I’ve been playing with him for three hours. Three hours! Angel babies are tiresome sometimes.’

‘Probably because we don’t sleep, our kind,’ Crowley said. As an afterthought, he added, ‘Or we don’t need to, anyway.’ He liked sleeping, himself. He liked sleeping quite a whole lot.

‘Please don’t kill each other or destroy anything in the house,’ Linda said, halfway between joking and dead seriousness. She pressed a kiss on top of Amenadiel’s head and gave Charlie a playful boop on his nose. Then she disappeared somewhere in the bowels of the house, and Crowley and Amenadiel were suddenly alone. Or as alone as you could be with a baby between you.

Amenadiel sighed and went right back to the previous—much more unpleasant—topic of discussion. ‘Do you think God did it?’

Right. The memory wipe.

‘Who else?’ Crowley said, shrugging lightly. ‘Aziraphale told me you kept your memories; he’s pretty convinced of it. Who else would have the power to erase just— _bits_?’

Amenadiel let out a _hmm_ and stared at the window for an uncomfortable moment, which Crowley spent mulling over whether to speak or not. He didn’t. Then Amenadiel asked, ‘Is it the others too?’

‘Well I haven’t exactly spoken to them, have I?’ Crowley resisted rolling his eyes. Not that he needed to, what with the sunglasses. But it was a good bloody question. ‘Just Lucifer and Azrael. They know, think I mentioned that before.’

There was another _hmm_. He was probably reminiscing about his past encounters with his siblings, or something, by the look on his face. He ignored Charlie and his noises and said, ‘And you’re… questioning. Again.’

Crowley hissed something that might’ve been _and this is why I don’t like talking to you_ under his breath. Always had to bring up the painful stuff. He miracled more coffee into his cup and drank it all, hot and bitter. ‘I’ve always told myself that I was a good demon, excellent and my job, best of the whole lot Down There. That I was a demon, full stop. Unforgivable.’

‘But you’re not,’ Amenadiel said, matter-of-factly.

Crowley let out a mighty exhale. ‘No. I don’t know. Turns out I’m just a _good_ demon. Bad angel. I don’t know.’

‘Questioning is good,’ Amenadiel nodded. ‘It tells you you’re on the right path. It may sound hypocritical coming from me, but I’ve been questioning myself and everything else for the last few years, and it does really put things into a new perspective. I’m sorry, Crowley, for condemning your questions all those years ago.’

‘Bygones, eh?’ Crowley said. He knew he didn’t believe in that. Can’t, when you’re a demon. ‘So you think we can Rise again.’

‘It happened to Lucifer and me,’ he said. It somehow hit different, hearing it twice. Like it was real. ‘We each had a different test to pass, and we didn’t even know it at first, but it’s all here, in your core. Free will.’ He tapped at his chest, that place where the faint divine glow was the strongest.

‘Different… test,’ Crowley muttered.

‘It’s about searching your conscience, Crowley. What’s your burden? What’s keeping you shackled, in the dark, thinking you can never get out? Think about it—but not with your mind. With your very being.’

‘Gee, that’s helpful.’

‘Is that not why you came to me?’

‘I never really Fell,’ Crowley said with another exhale. He was breathing a lot for someone who only did it to blend in with the humans. ‘I just… sauntered vaguely downwards. Never lost my power, my wings, ngh, I—’ He pointed at his Snake Tattoo. ‘This being black and my snake eyes are the only signs I’ve ever been a demon. I’ve always looked right past that, but it’s the truth.’

And the question was, was it God’s punishment, or was he punishing himself? That was what this business was about, no? Being the master of your own fate? If Crowley understood it correctly, anyway, which he wasn’t sure about, hence this conversation.

‘And you want Aziraphale to be able to feel your essence so he could tell you whether you’re a demon or whether it’s all a carefully constructed illusion built over centuries of self-deception,’ said Amenadiel. There was a small smile on his lips.

‘Blimey, you’re smart,’ Crowley said. He really was nothing like the rest of the lot, was he?

The smile stretched further, into a rather knowing, self-satisfied one. ‘Knowing wouldn’t change anything, though.’

‘It wouldn’t?’ Crowley’s knees and shoulders jerked, completely on their own. It was like being struck with electricity.

‘No,’ Amenadiel laughed. ‘As I said, you’re on the right track, brother. We are what we believe we are—but it’s internal, buried deep in our core.’

‘Well, I don’t want to _Rise_ anyway, and I _am_ marrying Aziraphale, so.’ He crossed his arms, pouting perhaps a bit too petulantly. ‘Take it or leave it.’

‘Okay. Knowing what I know now—I will do it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. On one condition.’

‘Walked into that one.’ Crowley bared his teeth. At himself. ‘Go ahead.’

‘You won’t disappear and ignore me for ten millennia again. All of us. The others might not be as forgiving, but they are our family. They deserve to know.’

Right. Crowley could’ve known that he wanted to tell the others. Ask them about it. Celestial beings could hold several trains of thoughts at the same time, independent on one another, and this one has been there for a while.

‘Well I thought they knew anyway, so what’s it change?’ he said, not at all bitterly. On second thoughts, he added, ‘I guess I did go a little fast today and owe you a proper explanation…’

‘And you have to meet your nephew properly!’ Amenadiel stroked the baby’s head. He’s been oddly quiet for a while. ‘Do you want to hold him?’

Crowley’s eyebrow went up. ‘Are you sure?’

‘He clearly likes you.’ Amenadiel shuffled closer to him and passed his son into Crowley’s arms. The little hatchling grinned toothlessly and flapped his tiny, bare, ethereal wings. He had just the one pair for now, but he’d have three soon enough.

‘Already making terrible decisions,’ Crowley said. He made a face at him. Charlie cooed. ‘Yes, you are. I’ll be a bad influence on you.’

‘Does that mean you plan on sticking around?’ Amenadiel asked, his voice laced with hope. Damn him.

‘I…’ Crowley groaned, ‘miiight be persuaded to visit once a decade. Or let you visit us, but only if Aziraphale agrees. He’s a bit tetchy about Archangels, especially knowing that…’ He trailed off.

‘He didn’t know?’ Amenadiel asked, sounding very surprised. As if everything that had gone down in the last couple of minutes wasn’t a clear indicator of _everyone_ knowing precisely _zilch_.

‘No. _Luci_ accidentally let that snake out of the bag.’

‘Ah,’ Amenadiel said, nodding affirmatively. He opened his mouth to carry on, but then his eyes focused on a shimmer he caught in the corner of his eye. Crowley saw it too. Ominously mauve.

A piece of paper materialised out of thin air, bearing a slight whiff of lavender and ozone. Amenadiel snatched it and unfolded it. The way his eyes skimmed from one corner to another suggested it was a message, and it wasn’t a nice one.

Well, it was clearly from _Gabriel_. God’s Messenger.

‘What’s it say,’ Crowley asked, but it wasn’t a question at all. He let Charlie fist at his dangly scarf-thing, and was only slightly annoyed at ending up in this situation in the first place. Holding a Nephil child! Him, a demon! And his estranged brother’s child no least!

Well—looked like this brother was less sharp around the edges and icy around the heart, though. He didn’t miss him or much care for the family on the whole, but it wasn’t terrible, speaking to him after all these years[2].

‘I’m being summoned,’ Amenadiel said. ‘All siblings who art in Heaven.’

‘Why, what’s going on?’

He had an idea. He didn’t like it.

‘Doesn’t say, only that it’s important and we are to report to Gabriel’s office immediately.’

* * *

1 Mostly because demons—and angels—didn’t actually need physical, human eyes to see. They possessed a rather significant number of additional senses that couldn’t even begin to be described to a human, most of them connected to their metaphysical body. How would Crowley always know that Aziraphale was in trouble, hmm?[✿]

2 He was lucky indeed that events started moving now and not, say, ten years ago when Amenadiel was the boss in Heaven and not at all unlike his much more… unpleasant siblings. [✿]


	17. Four Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a full list of pronouns I use for all the celestials:  
> he/him - Crowley, Aziraphale, Gabriel, Lucifer, Amenadiel  
> she/her - Michael, Beelzebub  
> they/them - Uriel, Azrael

Gabriel was sitting at his desk, reviewing certain angels’ use of miracles and writing a strongly-worded reprimand or two as you do, when he felt it.

Pain.

It coursed through his entire being, starting deep within his core and extending into his wings and corporeal extremities, and then finally found a pulsing nest in his head. It was the strongest headache he’s ever had, and he didn’t _get_ headaches; he was an _angel_. It wasn’t unbearable, no, but it felt like something was prodding and nudging at his essence and trying to latch on. A mind that carried a parasite with it.

He immediately recognised what, or rather _who_ , it was. Beelzebub, the Throne of Hell.

Gabriel put his silver pen down and closed his eyes, massaging his temples. He tried to reach back, but before he could grip her mind with his own, it was over.

It left him gasping for air that was completely unnecessary to his being.

He blinked a few times and tried to make sense of what has just gone down. Why did it stop so suddenly? Surely she wasn’t—

 _Beelzebub? Bee? Are you—can you hear me?_ he asked, telepathically. He could recognise _something_ of her existence still somewhere out there, though dangerously faint. They didn’t do this whole telepathy business often—it was iffy at best between Heaven and Hell, strongest when they shared the same plane of existence—but he damn well hoped it would work.

 _Fuck_ , she sent back, together with a flood of almost wrathful emotions. Gabriel sagged against his chair, simultaneously reassured and aggrieved. _It didn’t work. I got discorporated, and that was only because he got me out of that chair soon enough!_

 _What happened? Did they see it, or…?_ Gabriel wasn’t afraid or nervous. He wasn’t. But Hell was Hell.

 _They saw him carrying me down and then my body evaporating, what do you think?_ Beelzebub said. He could imagine an exasperated eye-roll, were she here. Had she had a body. And, oh. He didn’t know what he’d expected. But then she added, _But I can get one immediately_ [1] _, and I’ll cover it up. The boss’s the one who’s screwed. Bloody **Crowley**._

Gabriel, somewhat relieved, thought about it. The feeling didn’t last long. _But if Lucifer doesn’t want to stay on the throne…_

 _We have a problem, yes,_ Beelzebub hummed inside his mind.

He thought again. Long and hard—which was something he wasn’t in the habit of doing too often. He decided he would tell them. His siblings.

_Do you really think that’s a good idea?_

_We may be enemies, but if there’s a civil war in Hell, it will sure as **Hell** affect us too. And then there’s the recent discovery of certain missing memories._

_Ah, playing the snitch, I like that,_ Beelzebub laughed. _Well, let’s… **hope** this doesn’t end in a total disaster. A pissed-off Devil plus a bunch of pissed-off Archangels smell too much like war._

Gabriel, to be honest[2], didn’t even want to begin to think about _that_. Now that everyone got used to Earth’s continued existence and having the same jobs for another eternity, actually going to war all of a sudden would only cause an uproar no one needed, not to mention it would be utterly counterproductive.

 _You’re right,_ he admitted. _I have to go. Think you can come to The House later?_

 _I’ll probably need that_ , she said, and then he was alone with his thoughts. Well, not _alone_ -alone—he could never really be alone in there—but the telepathic call ended, for sure.

He took his pen and a blank piece of coloured paper. He wrote a message, neat and calligraphic as per regulations, and multiplied it with a thought. A click of fingers sent all four messages to their respective recipients, and Gabriel leant back in his chair and waited.

The first to appear was Azrael, who popped into cloaked existence right in front of him and almost, _almost_ made him jump. Thank the Almighty he was used to this by now. Azrael was everywhere at once and came and went like a shadow, even in Heaven.

They took their black hood off, and Gabriel glimpsed a bare skull and a whiff of general uneasiness, but then he was staring into brown eyes and a young face[3] and, of course, always has been. They asked, ‘What’s going on, then?’

Before he could say _we must wait for the others_ , there was a delicate rap on the door, and two figures walked in. Michael and Uriel. They were only missing Amenadiel, now. His message had to travel the furthest, and to be frank, Gabriel wasn’t sure whether he’d turn up at all.

Things weren’t left exactly… what was the expression? apricoty? between them when he last left some months ago, just after the Apocalypse crisis had been dealt with.

Azrael, as if sensing his thoughts, gave him a tight smile and said, ‘He’ll show up. I know he will.’

‘In the meantime, may I ask,’ said Michael, approaching the desk, ‘what warrants such a meeting?’

‘Patience, Michael. It is, after all, a—’

‘Virtue, yes,’ Uriel finished, showing the opposite of patience doing so. It was a too-repeated slogan in Heaven. They asked, ‘But I do hope _Lucifer_ isn’t invited as well?’

They were still bitter about the time they visited him in Los Angeles and were promptly stabbed and discorporated with Azrael’s sword, probably. Not that Gabriel blamed them. He couldn’t understand the desire to visit in the first place. He said, ‘God forbid, no. But he’s… involved.’

Michael let out a scoff, and then they waited in silence[4].

Amenadiel did, thankfully, show up, wearing strikingly informal clothes and a frown. ‘My siblings! What a lovely reunion,’ he said.

He was being sarcastic[5], but of course, no one but Azrael could tell. They gave him a smirk.

‘Amenadiel, good thing you’re here,’ Gabriel said. ‘We can finally begin. Please, sit down.’ Four chairs appeared where there were none before, and the four Archangels sat down. Gabriel cleared his throat and leant forward, elbows on the table. ‘Now, I have it on good authority that a… thing went down, well, _Down_.’

‘Oh?’ Michael asked. The others remained expressionless[6].

‘Satan doesn’t want to stay on the Throne, and the demons are rebelling,’ he said. ‘Prince Beelzebub tried to take over, but obviously, she’s not an Archdemon, so it didn’t work. Hell’s very unstable right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to lure _us_ in as well.’

Well, Bee’s already tried. But they didn’t need to know that.

Uriel grimaced and said, ‘As if we’d let them. Never.’ Gabriel could do nothing but agree with them.

‘How did you get this information?’ asked Michael. She blinked and stretched her golden lips in a smile that was definitely not as innocent as it seemed. Probably because she knew exactly how, and knew that he knew that she knew.

‘Doesn’t matter how I got it,’ Gabriel said with a strained smile. ‘What _matters_ is that an unstable Hell isn’t good for us.’

‘And you want to send an envoy Down There, telling them that they should stop fighting and get a new king because it’s not _good_ for us?’ said Amenadiel, sceptical. ‘They can’t get a new king. It’s either Luci or one of us. But I agree that it’s a dire situation. You know what they tried to do to my _son_.’

‘And it would’ve been easier for everyone if you let them _keep_ the Nephil, but—’

‘ _Gabriel_ ,’ Amenadiel snarled, rising. ‘You will _not_ say that about my _child_.’ He gripped the edges of the desk. It threatened to crack. Gabriel mentally reinforced it and tried to forget that he was the younger sibling here, and that Amenadiel bore the name of God’s Justice. But he stepped back, at Azrael’s gentle touch, and plopped back into his chair. He muttered, ‘This is precisely why I left this place.’

Michael turned to him. ‘Amen…’

‘It’s fine, Michael,’ Gabriel said. He levelled everyone with a glare. ‘So, as I was trying to say before I was _interrupted_ , I’ve recently discovered the whereabouts of our… Fallen colleague.’

‘We all know where Luci is,’ Azrael said. The others either nodded or looked at him as if he was stupid. He absolutely couldn’t have that.

‘No, I meant Raphael.’

* * *

1 When you were the second in charge and had the Devil readily available and knowing that signing the form at once was in everyone’s best interest, such things as discorporation paperwork queues disappeared for you. Oh, the royal privilege.[✿]

2 Which was always. He was an angel.[✿]

3 Azrael generally had two forms. One they preferred when travelling the Universe as Death, rather skeletal and terrifying. Impersonal. Distanced. The other was Azrael, _Angel_ of Death, short and chubby and almost kind. They showed that one to their siblings. Oh, and also Ella Lopez, the one human friend they’d made when she was a child who survived a car accident.[✿]

4 Angels didn’t know such things as _uncomfortable silence_ or _small talk_. That was for humans. A bit of silent contemplation was encouraged.[✿]

5 That wasn’t to say he didn’t love his siblings. Of course he did, and always would. All of them. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be annoyed with them, disagree with their methods, or dislike meeting them all like this, in _Heaven_.[✿]

6 Amenadiel was somewhat struggling though, because he knew all too well who this “good authority” was _and_ about the trouble with the Throne, which he undoubtedly wished to discuss. But he couldn’t say any of that lest he betray Crowley’s trust.[✿]


	18. Knowledge and Ignorance

The office drowned in dumbfounded silence. One might even say, for the first time in history, _uncomfortable_ silence.

Amenadiel broke it with a question. That crease on his brow returned. ‘Wait, you know?’

‘And… some of you didn’t?’ asked Azrael, looking around. Gabriel was beginning to be just as confused. He thought only he, Beelzebub, Lucifer, and Aziraphale knew?

Uriel glanced at both of them, looking over Michael, whom they were actually sitting next to, on the far end of the line of chairs. ‘Hang on, what?’

‘We’ve never found Raphael,’ Michael said, oddly soft. ‘We didn’t look.’

‘I’ve known this whole time[1]?’ Azrael said, more and more confounded. ‘We, er. Met a few times. You know how it is, Death is everywhere and anywhere, and sometimes he was around the places where too many humans died, the bubonic plague, the wars… You really didn’t know?’

‘I’ve just talked to him,’ Amenadiel confessed. ‘But I didn’t…’

‘Remember,’ Gabriel said solemnly. He folded his hands on the desk and graced each of his siblings with his purple gaze. Amenadiel nodded. Gabriel unfolded the hands again and gestured around. ‘Think about it. Try and picture Raphael’s face.’

‘I…’ Uriel’s eyebrows drew together. They pursed their lips. All they came up with was, unsurprisingly, ‘Cannot.’

Michael said much of the same. So that was that, then; only Azrael knew, somehow, but the rest of them? Nought. He was beginning to wonder about the entirety of Heaven’s choirs. Aziraphale probably knew, right? And he was just a principality. But then again, Crowley could’ve told him. Hmm.

Then there were the memories of Lucifer, too. They all knew where he was, who he was, what he looked like _now_. That knowledge was cloud enough to cover the truth of the fogginess of the memories behind it. Which was probably a bad metaphor, but Gabriel was no good in metaphors, so. Let’s move on.

‘Because somehow, our memories were tampered with,’ he said. Then he turned back to Amenadiel. A certain penny finally managed to drop. ‘Wait, you’ve spoken to him?’

‘He came to me,’ he said. ‘He had no idea that I—that _we_ didn’t remember. He told me that Aziraphale had told him that we kept our memories, which we thought we did, so he didn’t investigate, and… neither did we.’

‘Aziraphale?’ Uriel asked. ‘What’s he got to do with anything? Is Raphael on Earth?’

Gabriel opened his mouth to speak, but Michael beat him to it. ‘Who _is_ he, actually, you never sai— _oh_.’ Realisation coloured her face. ‘Oh no.’

Uriel frowned at her. ‘What, Michael?’

She took a deep breath. She’d figured it out. Well, she’d seen the execution, so that wasn’t so hard, if her train of thought was any similar to Gabriel’s own. And Michael’s always been smart. ‘He’s the—’

‘Demon Crowley,’ said Gabriel, Azrael, and Amenadiel in unison with her. Gabriel added, ‘And someone erased our memories of him. That’s how we never found out.’

Uriel gasped, but other than that, you could hear a feather drop. In the _metaphysical_ plane. It was going to become a practice at this rate.

‘How do _you_ know?’ Amenadiel finally asked Gabriel, somewhat accusatorily.

‘That’s insubstantial,’ he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. He wasn’t going to tell them that Beelzebub told him, no, that would raise too many additional questions. ‘But we do know whom to persuade to take the Throne.’

‘Yeah, that won’t happen,’ Amenadiel said, very sure of himself. ‘He’s retired, and he told me Lucifer had already asked him and he said no.’

‘Of course he said _no_ , that traitorous bastard,’ said Uriel. They shook their head in disbelief. Silence reigned once more.

‘So Crowley is Raphael,’ Michael said after a minute or three. She still needed to let it sink in. ‘Well, I think we can all agree this needs a drink.’ She miracled the good stardust stuff into existence, together with five glasses. You couldn’t get drunk from it, but it was the closest Heavenly equivalent to human alcohol. It felt like _sparks_.

‘How come you knew when we didn’t?’ she asked Azrael as she passed them their glass.

‘I know everything, don’t you know, sister? I’m unable to forget things. It gets tiring sometimes… really tiring,’ they sighed. They were aware of every soul, every birth, every death, all of history—Gabriel couldn’t imagine.

‘And he came to you?’ Michael turned to Amenadiel and gave him a glass as well. Another went to Uriel. Gabriel filled his own with just enough drink to tickle but not enough to stain his corporation too much. Not that it would, really; it was made in Heaven, not on Earth. But old habits lived easily, or something.

‘He did,’ Amenadiel said. ‘I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but he _is_ our brother, and I told him that you deserved to know, and that we’d all do our best and try to fix this relationship. Won’t we?’

‘Why would we? He Fell; he left us!’ said Uriel, affronted. ‘He’s _Crowley_ , a lowly infernal agent who led one of our own astray!’

‘Well, I do understand how they survived the executions now,’ Michael said. She knocked back her drink. ‘But come to think of it, Crowley _was_ just a lowly infernal agent, as Uriel said, not a…’

‘Archdemon?’ Amenadiel offered. ‘Have you ever considered that maybe not everyone wanted power? Or that maybe he never wanted to Fall in the first place and tried to live on unnoticed?’ He took a sip of the drink. It was dark, sort of bluish. ‘He’s not even really a _demon_ , he’s doubting himself. He asked about Rising.’

‘I heard that Lucifer Rose,’ Uriel said. ‘Is that true? _Lucifer_?’

‘Yeah, he did. He fell in love and sacrificed himself to go back to Hell, to try and contain it. Luci’s an angel again, like us. And that’s why we should _help_ , not try and force someone who doesn’t want to rule Hell to rule it.’

 _An angel again. Like us._ Beelzebub has told him, of course, but it was still… well, unbelievable. It really put a dent in everything they thought they knew—or rather, made the dent created by the unsuccessful Apocalypse _bigger_. Was that a part of the Ineffable Plan, too?

‘Any volunteers? You, perhaps?’ Gabriel said to Amenadiel, throwing in his usual smile as well. But he was being absolutely honest, no sarcasm implied, in case that needed clarifying.

‘You know I have a family now,’ Amenadiel said, and it almost sounded like he couldn’t believe Gabriel was even asking that[2]. ‘I won’t abandon Charlie and Linda.’

Azrael cleared their throat. ‘Well, I’m a bit busy being Death. Sorry.’

‘Not after he tried to kill me,’ Uriel said. This was the moment they needed to drink their stardust, and they had much _more_ than Gabriel.

Michael showed the slightest hint of a snort. ‘Even if I went there, he’d never give the Throne to _me_. He’s too proud for that. Look, it’s even his domain. Pride.’

‘Well, I can’t do it, so.’ Gabriel shrugged. He had Reasons. ‘This is an impossible situation.’

‘There’s still the wedding,’ said Amenadiel.

Michael asked, flabbergasted, ‘Wedding?’ She took the question right out of Gabriel’s mouth.

‘I never got to answer your question. Crowley came to me to ask me to perform the bonding ritual for him and Aziraphale. I said yes.’

‘ _Why_?’ asked Uriel, indignant. Gabriel agreed with them here.

‘Because he’s my _brother_ , and frankly, both of them deserve an apology from us. None of that would’ve ever happened if I’d been here, but alas, I came too late. You should be _ashamed_ , sentencing one of our own to death by Hellfire for _loving someone_. You could expect that from demons, but we should do _better_. And maybe if you spent a bit more time on Earth, you’d realise how wonderful that is, too. Humans. Everything. We’ve spent so long thinking about war and drowning in paperwork that we’ve forgotten our original purpose, _love_ and _guidance_. That’s what we should show to everyone. We’re angels! So yes, I’m doing it, and I better _see you there_.’

He vanished into thin air, leaving behind an empty glass and nothing else.

Gabriel finally drank his, and slammed a fist against the desk. Aziraphale had said the same goddamned thing[3], then.

‘Is there anything else we should know about?’ Michael asked. No one said anything. ‘Because if not, I need a moment. Excuse me.’

She left through the door. Uriel mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _God, I hate this family_ , and followed right after her. Azrael gave Gabriel a sympathetic smile and drank the rest of their stardust drink.

‘That went well,’ they said.

Gabriel’s gaze travelled from his fist to his sibling. ‘Did you really know this whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Ah. I assumed that everyone knew as well,’ they said. Something guilty flashed across their face but was gone just as quickly. ‘I mean, we were all at the air base, for one… But even if I didn’t, that wasn’t mine to tell.’

‘I thought you knew everything,’ he scoffed.

‘I do.’ They gave him a meaningful look. Gabriel raised an eyebrow, and they did as well.

He gulped. Did they mean… _him and Beelzebub_? ‘Everything?’

‘Everything. But don’t worry, I won’t tell them where precisely you got the information about the Throne and about Crowley either. Assuming she told you about him?’

‘She did,’ he said flatly.

Azrael grinned. ‘Okay. Have fun, Gabe; I gotta go collect about a thousand human souls that are suffering from inattention thanks to this wonderful conversation. We don’t want anyone seeing ghosts out there.’

Then they were gone, and Gabriel was, once again, left alone with his thoughts. He poured himself another glass of stardust, knocked it back, and teleported to Norway. Into the house he sometimes shared with Beelzebub but definitely didn’t _live_ with her in.

This called for another jog and shower. A long jog and an even longer shower.

* * *

1 They were Creation’s Shadow, the angel and personification of Death, The Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. They were everywhere at once, they knew everything about everyone, and they were incapable of forgetting anything—besides how the horse moved in chess and how to get drunk—so it was impossible to take _their_ memories. Crowley was lucky that they also knew how to keep something to themselves. Otherwise, it would’ve been out at the air base, or perhaps even sooner.[✿]

2 He absolutely couldn’t believe Gabriel was asking that.[✿]

3 It was Crowley, of course, but _this_ bit still remained unknown. It made it somewhat funnier though, didn’t it? They really were more similar than they thought. All of them.[✿]


	19. Entangled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.
> 
> It's also an extra scene that I pictured before writing chapter 21 but didn't intend to write. It was an off-screen thing that provided me with some background for a certain conversation. But then I read the comments on the last one and just decided to go for it because you clearly have a lot of feelings about Gabriel XD It's not that explicit, but if smut isn't your cup of tea, you can just skip it, seeing as it's still an extra scene. We'll get back to the important bit of the conversation in ch 21.

Beelzebub found Gabriel in the shower.

Judging by the steam that clung to about every surface in the bathroom and almost made a lavender-scented steam bath out of it, he’s been there for quite a while. He was… processing something. Sibling-related, probably.

If he knew that she was there—and he had to know—he made no move to show her.

She got rid of her clothes and let the steam coat her body, just a few hours new[1]. She opened the usually translucent door of the showering cubicle and stepped inside, onto damp stone and almost out of the way of the shower itself.

She really, _really_ needed to forget about _that_ sensation right now. She had had a bit of an idea of what an Archangel’s mind felt like, but that was—too much. And it’s been a century at _least_ since she was last discorporated. This body felt all weird, like an ill-fitting suit. Made of flesh.

Gabriel opened his eyes, bright purple. Water rained onto his hair and streamed down his face and to his entire body—well-formed, gorgeous, worthy-of-being-proud-of body, ugh, the _sight_. He took her in. ‘Bee.’

‘Don’t tell me, you were _worried_ ,’ she said, dismissively. He was, he _was_. Stupid angel; she didn’t know if she should kiss him or throw up.

‘You could’ve died there,’ he said. His face betrayed none of his emotions, but that could hardly help him in this relationship, could it? ‘Well, probably not _died_ , but…’

‘As I’ve told you before, as you agreed.’ Instead of rolling her eyes, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped a possessive, unfamiliar hand around the back of his neck. Kissing it was.

Gabriel’s hand on the small of her back pulled her closer, and he pushed against her mouth. He smelt of shampoo. She would never say it out loud, but she liked that scent. You couldn’t find it in the smelly corridors of Hell. No, that was just him, a vain bloody angel who called his body a temple a knew that it was a place of worship, too. But there were no gods here. Just a demon he was ashamed to admit to living with.

Well, they had that in common.

But to _her_ it was natural.

Beelzebub sucked at his lower lip, then left a bite and pulled back. He chased after her. With just the smallest smirk, she brought their mouths back together, and let him taste some tongue, too. It was a good thing that they didn’t need to breathe, or that they didn’t mind the running water[2]. She didn’t want to _stop_.

New bodies were always different.

It was a human thing, kissing. But it was all the good things demons hated talking about, and Gabriel was surprisingly not that bad at it at all, with the best demonic teacher around and 700 years to learn.

And the bond. Always the bond.

If you looked into the immaterial plane right now, you wouldn’t see two auras of two beings, two different forms, no. It was more like one, overlapping, with tendrils reaching for one another and ten wings crammed into one shower and enveloping the two beings in a cocoon of sparkling energy. _Lift me up_ , she would say in her mind, and he would grip her body and push her against the dewy grey tiles. She would wrap her legs around him to hold on and run her hands through his hair, and feel double the amount of distress and despair.

‘This is a brand-new body,’ she said out loud, breaking the kiss. She ran a hand down his back, sending out _mischief._ ‘Break it in.’

She bit her somewhat swollen lip when his fingers found her folds and slipped inside, warm and wet—from the shower—and amazing. She wasn’t just wet from the _shower_.

She leant her forehead against his and closed her eyes. It was a strong connection point, that. Gabriel was inside her physically, working a slow rhythm with two fingers and grazing her clit just _right_ , but there was also the ethereal and infernal energy reaching out to one another. It sent shivers down her actual spine and the metaphysical, burning, dark[3] core. Her eyes, hundreds of them, saw his wings flutter around him, saw him looking at her and through her even if the eyes of her corporation were firmly shut.

She despised how good all his heavenly presence felt. Sort of tingly and mind-shattering, but in a way opposite to that of the bloody piece of stone she’d sat on, and also like bloody _love_ , which she could feel _because_ of him in the first place.

Not that she _loved him_. Demon Princes didn’t _do_ love. Pleasure, yes, relief in stressful situations, occasional holidays from co-ruling Hell, eating food and doing paperwork and arguing over stupid shit. Not love.

Gabriel added a third finger. She squirmed and rocked faster against him. He didn’t cooperate though, because of course he wouldn’t. He was enjoying it as much as she was. ‘Is that good?’ he whispered in her ear, smug as ever. ‘Divine, even?’

Well, she had no idea how sex felt to humans, but she couldn’t imagine it being satisfying in any way without this divinity and _connection_.

(Don’t tell him that.

He knew anyway.)

‘Just don’t tell me that patience is a bloody virtue,’ she said. Her hand gripped his arse, careful to leave a mark. Tantalising tips of her wings brushed against his. ‘Demons aren’t patient. If I don’t get at least two orgasms out of this, I’ll _show_ you your _patience_.’

‘I’ve had enough of that today.’ Gabriel left a kiss and a bite on that ear. He pushed deeper into her mound and reached further into her being like burning light to blazing inferno. He said, telepathically, _It’s not looking well at all, and now they want me to be some sort of bootlicker who can just forget about the past and come to a fucking **wedding** —_

 _Wedding?_ Beelzebub shot back.

 _Guess whose_ , he said. He was also trying not to think about it and thus showed her a perfect image. _And on top of that, Amenadiel said he wanted one of **us** to sit on the Throne? As if that would happen, none of us can do it._

Yeah. They’d gone through this one before.

 _Lucifer went into a full-on rage fit after—_ She gave him some memories, too. She could feel that he felt her pain when _she_ did that, but one more dose couldn’t hurt. She needed to get it out. He’d dispersed the forming crowd and signed the discorporation paperwork, but when she returned, bearing no other scars but the mental ones, he was throwing things around destroying pretty much everything he got his hands on. Wings out. _Bright-as-fuck_ wings out.

Gabriel gasped.

Her nails dug into his skin. She thrust against him, feeling herself on the edge, spasms and electricity building up within. His corporate and incorporeal forms overwhelmed her, all the emotions reflected right back at her. Beelzebub moaned when she came, clenching around Gabriel’s hand and grasping his angelic body with metaphysical, and metaphorical, dark fingers.

He was kissing her again, closing his wings around her. He felt her fire, but it didn’t burn.

 _Thanks, Archangel boy. For a second I actually forgot how fucked we are,_ she said with a mental smirk.

 _You mean how we’re fucking?_ He pulled his fingers out, entirely too satisfied. But there was an anxious edge behind it, at the back of his mind.

Beelzebub snorted. _Speaking of…_ She teased at his cock, hard and leaking already. He would deny whimpering against her lips, but he absolutely did. _No, but we **are** fucked. He’s furious, mostly with Crowley, which is bloody understandable, I am **too** satanblessit, and he’s unhappy. When the king’s unhappy, so’s the kingdom. And the rumours will spread faster than the plague. It’ll only get worse. I know you don’t—_

‘Want to claim the Throne? Why would I?’ he said out loud. He had to part from her to do so. She _didn’t_ miss his lips or his touch inside her. He put his head on her shoulder. ‘Hang on, I’m gonna—’

She opened her legs for him, and he slid into her.

‘Don’t hold back,’ she said like a command, tight around him and snug against the wall that had seen worse. She felt him _around_ her as well, still. She breathed in the lavender and the whiff of petrichor and ozone.

‘Do I ever?’ he said.

Yes, he ever. She usually didn’t _allow him_ to be in charge. But she needed to feel something today, to switch off, to let him do what he wanted. Not completely—she was a proud demon; she’d never let and Archangel _control_ her, manipulate her, but enough to give him a sense of control. He needed it too.

Things have been frustratingly out of their hands lately.

And he was surprisingly unselfish. Here and now, at least.

Beelzebub wrapped both arms tight around his neck. He moved deeper into her and then pulled back and then in again, picking up the pace a bit and making her groan once more.

‘Why… why wouldn’t you?’ she asked anyway. _Again_. ‘You’ve got the next best claim with me as Lucifer’s right hand, and we could—’

What, rule _together_? No, that was just preposterous. The silly ideas of a foolish angel who thought her husband would always go with her, even if it meant following her Down. That angel had been wrong. That angel had died.

She knew that he’d never agree to it, because he was the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel, too good for Hell, too righteous to set foot into the Dark Kingdom, too contemptuous towards demons themselves. He was a selfish, vain, stupid bird who hadn’t Fallen only because he still believed in God’s absolute power and unconditional love, in his innocence, in his truth. He was hardly virtuous. A hypocrite, he was. A hypocrite who would send to her mind something like, _Me? In Hell? No thanks, I like my current position just fine. Right, it might help my Fallen brother or something, but why would I do that? He did that to himself. I’m no Good Samaritan. I’m the Messenger of God; do you know what that means? It means that I can’t be in **Hell**. And I’m busy! I couldn’t honestly keep flying back and forth between the two offices, are you serious? _

Yeah, there was someone who’d rather serve in Heaven like a sanctimonious bloody sheep than reign in Hell with the Prince he was busy fucking into the wall.

 _You couldn’t pay them any more attention than he does,_ Beelzebub had to admit though. She scoffed and moved her hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, shutting everything else out. She rested her head against the warm tiles, let him leave bites along her pale collarbone.

Demons, for all their chaotic ways, relied on stability and loyalty as much as the next guy. Couldn’t make do with an absentee king they couldn’t trust[4]—and they’d _never_ trust him, Heaven’s top boy. Even if the interoffice relationships weren’t so high-strung anymore, he could never convince them that he wasn’t acting in Heaven’s best interests and plotting against them.

Especially when it wouldn’t be _true_ , because he _absolutely_ didn’t care what demons did, thought, or needed. He saw them as vermin who scorned at God’s orders and plans and hospitality. She was only one step above that and knew it.

But.

_And that’s just it, don’t you see? That’s how he feels. Don’t you have any sympathy for thy neighbour, o holy one, any understanding of damned love; you’re supposed to spread that everywhere you walk, aren’t you, Mummy’s perfect angels—_

‘Shut up,’ he said, locking gazes with her. He was angry. _Good_. He sped up, hands on her hips, incorporeal wings holding hers. ‘Or I’ll begin to think that you want to see me stoop that low, sit by your side at all times. Who’s lying here?’

‘No one,’ she panted. They were both upright, for one. ‘We’re both stubborn arseholes. So’s the Boss.’

‘Fuck,’ he said. It about summed up the situation, in multiple ways. ‘I think I’m close—’

Beelzebub saw his aura, his light, intensify around him. She could feel his pleasure and his emotions as if they were her own, and, in a way, they were. They both carried a part of the other in their core.

She was close too, aching for another release, for that dulled burn of divine ecstasy. She caught his mouth in a filthy kiss and squeezed her legs around him in a grip that could break a human’s bones. His cock was buried flush inside her, hot, pulsing. It took only a few more pumps before he climaxed and spilt pure divinity into her. Her lips clenched around him, and he rode out her orgasm with her, slowing down, revelling in the entangled mess their essences created.

She saw her infernal fire burn around his four wings and laughed, throwing her head back.

It was all bloody comical if you asked her. This _game_.

But neither of them would stop. He wouldn’t relent. He’d come to her and come in her and then go back to his duties, his orders, his denial, and so would she, and one day, this might just end with a catastrophe.

Beelzebub was a demon and didn’t care.

She loosened her grip on him so he could let go of her and step into the stream, to wash off his sins or some other rubbish. He always showered after, instead of just using a miracle, even if they weren’t already in the shower.

But this time he pulled her close to him and held on, wrapping her in his arms and his still-sparkling wings. ‘We’re not getting anywhere, are we?’ he said, uttering a sigh. ‘And God isn’t telling us what to do. Hasn’t been for a while.’

‘At this point, you should get all seven of you together and draw straws,’ Beelzebub said against his chest. It was only half a joke. Gabriel certainly didn’t think it was funny.

But there was _something_.

‘Have you ever thought of just tearing the Throne down and making your own parliament? Works fine for humans, doesn’t it? I mean, Up There we discuss matters of importance together too, you know how it goes, traitors and such… and you do it anyway! You rule, not _Satan_.’

She looked up into his eyes and frowned. It was most likely the first good idea Gabriel’s had in a very long time. But, ‘It’s not that simple.’

Gabriel blinked. ‘Isn’t it?’

* * *

1 It was the exact same model as before, only the haircut was neater, not yet destroyed by time and the humid, slightly chemical air of Hell.[✿]

2 Or water bills.[✿]

3 Well, really dark-ish with a bit of heavenly light that was mostly just a nuisance and had to be well-hidden in Hell. No one down there knew about that bit, only Lucifer. But now… rumours might spread. No, who was she kidding, rumours _will_ spread.[✿]

4 Not that demons went around trusting people in general.[✿]


	20. Good News First

Crowley idly played with the mobile in his hand, tossing it from one hand to another. He lay stretched out on the old wooden bench by the rosebush that climbed the southern wall of the cottage[1], watching the waves lap against the sandy shore and a boy run along the beach with his two dogs. June was ending; soon, there would be more humans around, much to his distaste, and the weather would get even _worse_.

Don’t get him wrong—he, as something of a snake, liked heat and sunshine, but too much was too much. And this year seemed to be all about the suffering of being boiled alive in your aesthetically black clothes. In _England_.

He has also just got off the phone with Amenadiel.

Before Amenadiel flew Heavenwards, he’d told Crowley that he was welcome for as long as he wanted to—which he didn’t—and had tried to give him his number so they could arrange further details. But Crowley already had the number from Lucifer, so all was fine, and after he passed Charlie off to Linda some twenty minutes later, he returned home. That was yesterday.

And Amenadiel had some not-so-pleasant news.

‘Angel?’ Crowley craned his head towards Aziraphale, who’s been lying about in Crowley’s hammock with one of his dusty books for the past two hours. That was the whole reason for having to make do with the bench.

‘Yes, dear?’

‘You hear any of that?’

Aziraphale placed a bookmark in his book and turned around. He was wearing a truly atrocious straw hat which Crowley was tempted to burn to ashes. One of these days he was really going to _do it_. ‘Ah, I was too immersed in my _Divine Comedy_ , I’m afraid.’ A worried look passed across his face. ‘Why, is something wrong?’

Yeah, no surprise he’d be reading the _Divine Comedy_ right now. From Hell to Purgatory to Heaven, eh? That was a comedy in and of itself. But Aziraphale sought answers, refuge, and distraction in books, always. If it helped him cope…

‘Good news first,’ Crowley said. He sat up and swung one leg over the other in a very elegant, fluid manner and ran a hand through his hair, which fell into his face in the process. ‘He’s good to come here next week. We can do it on the beach if we chase all the humans away, and we need none of that human wedding-y nonsense, so I think we’re good to go?’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ he said. He pressed his lips together in a thin, contented smile but furrowed his brow soon after. ‘I did want a cake though…’

Of course he would. It wasn’t exactly tradition; marriages between angels and/or demons required none of the pomp and ceremony of human affairs, with guests and food and bad dancing. There were only the couple and the officiant, and it was done in about twenty minutes. Everyone went back to their duties after they filled the necessary paperwork—well, _that_ part was much the same as it was on Earth—and that was that. They’d agreed to it this way, too. But it wouldn’t be Aziraphale if he didn’t want a _wedding_ _cake_.

‘Okay, we can have cake if you want,’ Crowley agreed. ‘But I’m not helping you make it. You’re on your own there, angel.’

‘Yes, no, half the cream would end up in you[2] and the other half on you[3], and you’d distract me too much. We know how that goes,’ Aziraphale replied.

Crowley recalled a certain _incident_ with an attempted cheesecake that didn’t so much lead to cake as to some truly _delicious_ worktop sex, and snickered. ‘Promise I’ll be _good_ and stay out of the way. So! Cake. That’s the good part.’

‘Well, better let it out now than to let it fester.’

‘I was wrong,’ Crowley said. He let out a heavy sigh and uncrossed his legs. ‘Beelzebub couldn’t sit on the Throne. _And_ she’d told Gabriel about me, who in turn told Michael and Uriel, so now they all know, _bugger_!’

The way he screamed that expletive into the air scared off a nearby pair of birds, arguing about the best spot for sitting on a particular tree. They flew away.

‘So I take it they didn’t before,’ said Aziraphale.

‘‘Pparently not. Their memories were really erased[4], _poof_ , like that!’ He clicked his fingers. ‘Could speculate why. But that’s not even the worst part.’

Aziraphale swallowed. A weight sat on his words. ‘It isn’t?’

‘No. Amenadiel, being an initiative, family-angel bastard told them to come to the wedding. He’s still deluded with ideas about family reunions or some other rubbish—and fine, I could do with seeing him every now and then, seeing how the kid’s growing, but _Gabriel_? _Those_ arseholes? I dunno what he’s thinking. I’m not letting him near you, ever again.’

‘That’s very noble of you, but I can handle myself.’

‘Don’t tell me you _want_ him to come. He’s been hurting you, angel.’ Crowley looked Aziraphale straight in the eye, sunglasses notwithstanding. Rage bubbled inside him, but he was careful not to let it simmer up to the surface.

‘I didn’t say that,’ Aziraphale pouted. ‘But I’m fully capable of—of sending him _somewhere_ on my own if he does. I’m not an idiot, Crowley, and nor am I defenceless.’

‘Are you?’ Crowley asked, sceptical. It didn’t look like that during his previous meetings with the High and Mighty of Heaven—the ones Crowley’s born witness to, anyway, but even one or two times were enough to get a read on the situation.

He wasn’t a Cherub[5] _anymore_.

‘Yes!’ Aziraphale said. He shifted around in the hammock. ‘Yes, when it comes to you, always. I _would_ have smacked Lucifer with that book had you asked. And I can still summon up my sword. I think.’

The corner of Crowley’s mouth went up. _This_. This was what freedom did to you. No lies, no fear. _Anything for you_.

‘Okay, I believe you.’ Crowley blew out his cheeks. He got up and sauntered to the hammock. He knelt on the soft grass in front of it and gave Aziraphale a nudge. He swung lightly, there and back, a somewhat nervous look in his eyes—as if he was going to fall! When he returned to Crowley, he ran his fingers through his red hair.

‘We can handle it,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, we can handle it, darling.’

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s arm. He snaked one hand into his, too, comforted by the touch he was so anxious to allow himself not so long ago. ‘Yeah.’ There was a pause. ‘But it’s—weird, you know.’

‘Weird?’ Aziraphale asked, carefully.

‘When I thought they all knew and ignored me, I couldn’t care less, but _knowing_ that they know—I don’t know, feels different.’

‘It makes you feel vulnerable.’

He couldn’t put a name to the feeling before—he was never that good with words. But bloody hell, wasn’t that something.

‘And I hate that, angel,’ he said. He might as well get it out, eh? ‘I hate feeling vulnerable, because it means I _mean_ something. I can’t just be a run-of-the-mill, ignorable demon anymore. Suddenly there’s attention, the one thing I never wanted.’ He was silent for a while, listening to the angel’s breathing. ‘I think they’re going to make me take the Throne. Amenadiel said so.’

He bloody _invited them_ to the ceremony _himself_.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat. ‘They can’t do that. Not when you don’t want to.’

‘When did _that_ ever stop the bunch of them, eh?’ Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale harrumphed. ‘Well, we won’t let them,’ he said decisively. ‘We’re going to be bonded, and we’ll live out the rest of eternity in this cottage, reading, and making food, and going for walks, and having small talk with the neighbours, and making love, and taking care of the garden, and they can’t do anything to take that away.’

‘Mhm-hm, sure, you’ll whip up your flaming sword and slay all the dragons.’

‘Being pessimistic doesn’t suit you, Crowley.’

‘Right now, I’m not sure of anything.’ He turned his head and looked Aziraphale in the eye. So much blue. He could almost forget about the hat. He gave him a small smile. ‘Only that I—you know. I love you.’

‘And I you,’ Aziraphale said. He ran a hand through Crowley’s hair again. It was wonderful, really, and oddly soothing. He got up and gestured for the angel to scoot over as best as he could. He climbed into the hammock, not at all clumsily, and closed his eyes.

‘Read it out loud?’

* * *

1 It was of the Rosa Eden variety, of course.[✿]

2 In his _stomach_ , of course, in case someone felt like getting any ideas. For how little he ate, he loved stealing raw dough and cream when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, and giving him innocent looks as he licked it off his fingers. That often resulted in a scowl or a huff, but he was never really thrown out of the kitchen. Petty mischief, small victories.[✿]

3 Well, who said all the looks and making obscene gestures with his fingers _didn’t_ lead somewhere?[✿]

4 Aziraphale and he had that conversation yesterday night. It wasn’t an easy one to have. Wine was poured by the bottles.[✿]

5 Crowley knew, because he had told him once, a few centuries ago. They were, not surprisingly, drunk when it happened, going through so many tangents they didn’t remember what the original subject had even _been_ , and somehow, they ended up discussing the Garden. They often did. But this time, Aziraphale blabbered and couldn’t _stop_ talking. He needed to let it all out, the overall scene, the pain. The gratefulness, too.[✿]


	21. Demo(n)cracy?

Lucifer wasn’t having a good time.

That was a bit of a prerequisite for living in Hell, granted, but it’s been going to extremes lately. It wasn’t even about his subjects or the Throne’s constant need to reflect his moods and deepest desires, which were somewhat dreary these days, no. It was the fact that he’d been foolish enough to have _hope_.

The inscription on the gates wasn’t there for no bloody reason. _Abandon all hope ye who enter here._ Not even the King was exempt from that, though so different from the mortal souls condemned for years and years of Hell-Loops and torture.

Then there was the rapid spread of rumours throughout the entire realm. By now, every demon knew that Beelzebub had tried for the Throne and failed—but a good half of them caught it too late, so the news that reached them were more along the lines of _have you heard that even Beelzebub’s loyalty is shifting? Yeah, she tried to take over, and Lucifer found her and discorporated her for it. He’s hella pissed. I wonder how long this’ll last…_

He sighed, sitting in his office chair[1], morosely, and wondered about the same thing.

All in all, it’s been a tough couple of days.

He really had no other option but talking to his siblings, had he? Because no, Charlie and Adam were out of the picture. Hands off. There would be _no_ kidnapping children. He’s thought about drawing a name out of a hat and telling whoever won that lottery that they were King of Hell now, whether they liked it or not. He’s thought about letting Hell vote. He’s thought about everything.

He liked none of those options, because they all shared a common denominator, and that was the lack of consent. He didn’t want to be that kind of Devil. Never had been. No, they had to meet and _decide_ , between them, _civilly_.

He snorted at the image. As if.

He reached for his glass of cheap, watered-down scotch, because that was the best you could get around here, and knocked it back. It was the last of the whole bottle, oh _bother_. He slammed the glass against the table.

No, on second thoughts—he pushed himself to his feet and hurled the glass at the stupid _tapestry_. Hell’s glorious victories his arse. What had Milton said once? _Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven_? Once, maybe. But he forgot about the third option.

 _Live on Earth_.

The unreachable one.

Fuck, he missed Chloe Decker. Even her demanding, chocolate-stained, too-smart-for-her-own-good spawn. His gaze slipped to the spray of glass shards on the floor, a sad mosaic. An _angry_ mosaic. He stared at it, balling his hands into fists.

He needed to talk to Beelzebub, see if she had news of any developments. She’d been quick to _disappear_ after getting her body back and sitting through an emergency meeting. And he also needed to put a stop to the false accusations circulating through the mouths of the commons.

He strode to the door, yanked it open, and grabbed the nearest demon. ‘You, get Prince Beelzebub. _Now_.’

The scared little thing nodded and scurried away with a _yes, Lord_.

Five minutes later, a disgruntled Beelzebub stomped into the chamber, and with her, her flies and various other insects. ‘You asked for me, Lord?’

‘I need you to issue a statement,’ he said. It was an order.

‘For that I need to know what _about_ ,’ Beelzebub shot back, dry.

‘That you didn’t attempt a coup by trying to sit on the Throne. That it was sanctioned by me, and your loyalty still lies with me, as does your legions’.’

‘If I say that you asked me to do it, there will be questions about my—’ she said. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands behind her back. ‘About me. And your own sanity; everyone knows you know only Arches can sit there.’

‘Not if you convince Gabe to rule with you,’ he said, doing his best to make the offer sound appealing. Charming smiles did little in Hell, though. And Gabriel, well… never was his favourite sibling to begin with. ‘Does he love you, I wonder?’

She flinched and tried to make it look like she didn’t. ‘I’m under no obligation to answer that question,’ she said. Uncomfortably. ‘And he won’t. I said he wouldn’t. Right now, our best shot is the wedding.’

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. ‘Wedding? What wedding?’

‘The traitors’. They’re getting _bonded_ ,’ she answered, scrunching up her nose. ‘Not that I want bloody Crowley as my boss, but since you so strongly _insist_ on finding a replacement, you’ll just have to try harder with him. At least he’s a demon… _ish_ bastard.’

Well, this wasn’t what he imagined would happen when he left the cottage that day, but good for them! Oh, he was actually proud of his brother. What a lovely development. He imagined Crowley wouldn’t be too happy about him visiting and asking _again_ , however.

‘Convincing Crowley to take the gig by crashing his wedding, right, he’ll be jumping for joy,’ Lucifer said. He rolled his eyes. They landed on hers. ‘Why not? I mean, you’re something of a vice-king already, and he’s your husband… if that were me, I’d call it marriage goals.’

‘It _is_ you.’ Beelzebub pressed her lips together. He could tell that the cogwheels and spheres in her mind were spinning. Was there something else, something she didn’t want to tell him about?

‘It’s a figure of speech. And it’s not like I can bring Chloe here, is it? Really, Gabriel is the closest to a legitimate claim, other than our own Undesirable Numero Uno.’

Which Lucifer hated. So much. He had said that he didn’t want him there and all—but the situation has, regrettably, evolved since then.

‘ _I know that_ ,’ she snapped. ‘He… it goes against his principles or something. He’s a hypocrite who’s ashamed of being with a _demon_. I know I am too, but you can _expect_ it from me. And he might be a bastard, but he’d be as lost here as bloody Jesus. Didn’t you say that once? He’s got… a different energy. Too _clean_. Can you really _imagine_ him here? Hell would be _orderly_.’

‘Maybe that’s exactly what Hell _needs_.’

‘Go talk to him yourself then, see how it goes!’ She threw her hands up. ‘Don’t you think I’ve _tried_ , despite all that? I’ve told him all about it when he fucked me into the shower wall!’

‘TMI, Beelzebub!’

‘Fuck off,’ she said, knowing he didn’t mean that. He was _him_. ‘You know I’ll issue your statement; I support you. But you also know what I _think_.’

He clicked his tongue. ‘What _do_ you think, pray tell? Any news, for that matter?’

‘I’ll ignore the choice of words and just say that you should forget about your humans and stay here. They chose you back then, they _will_ support you now. _If_ you stay.’ She jabbed a finger into his desk.

‘I will for as long as I need to, but bloody hell, I can’t keep a job that doesn’t fulfil me anymore! Not unless they will respect me being away most of the time and maybe checking in on them once in a while—but Dad knows how long it’ll take until I can do _that_.’

‘You can always eradicate the radicals.’ She scoffed. ‘They were mostly Lilim anyway, no one will miss them.’

‘They’re being tortured already, worry not.’ He had them all gathered up and locked up after the meeting yesterday, Dromos and his closest associates. Gave them to Dagon to play with. ‘But you can’t stop the whispers. This is _politics_.’

 _We don’t care that you’re here now_ , they said. _You haven’t been listening to us for centuries, too caught up in yourself._

‘Well, there was an… idea,’ Beelzebub said. There was that oddly pensive look again. ‘Gabriel’s, actually. He said we should form a parliament, with you as the figurehead on top, me as the PM, and various demons as MPs. Our own British monarchy or something. The Throne as a symbol, regular meetings, consulting everything with you, that kind of thing. Like they have… _Upstairs_.’ She slipped into a slight buzz there at the end. ‘I told him I thought it wasn’t that simple, but…’

‘No, that’s _clever_ , actually!’ he said, eyes glowing with satisfaction. ‘Did he really come up with that?’

It would be a step from an absolute monarchy bordering on tyranny towards a modern, constitutional monarchy for certain. A _big_ reformation for such an outdated institution, yes, but a little modernisation was _long_ overdue if you asked him. Besides, it’s been working like that for the past few years anyway, so making it official would just, well, _make it official_.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘But with all due respect, do you really think that would help anything? You’d still leave, and they’d still think you don’t take it seriously.’

‘No, but if you had, say, two hundred demons collectively deciding the fate of Hell, _demoncratically_ you could say, they wouldn’t _need_ a King anymore besides serving as a, as you say, figurehead, the face on the money! I’d still retain _some_ obligation to get involved but enough to handle, and everyone would be happy as a pig in mud!’ Lucifer rubbed his palms together. ‘It’s certainly worth discussing.’

‘Do what you will; you’re the King,’ said Beelzebub. There was a strongly implied _still_ there, though. ‘If you still want to talk to your siblings, the wedding’s next Saturday on the beach by their _house_. It was implied that they’d pay a visit.’

‘Wonderful, written and marked! I so look forward to it,’ he said, virtually dripping with sarcasm. ‘But how come you know and I don’t? Bloody injustice!’

‘Amenadiel told someone who told Gabe who told me. And _I’m_ telling you. I’m tired of being the intermediary between the two sides of this fucking family, by the way. A business meeting would solve it all, but no, our mighty Lucifer is too _proud_ to call them—’

‘Know your limits, Prince,’ he raised his voice. ‘But you know what, I think I might stop by—even if I’m not welcome. What’s one more undesirable to the mix, eh? I should thank Gabe for his suggestion, after all.’

Beelzebub gave him a dark look. It suggested _murder_ , on one side or the other. ‘Is that all?’

He nodded. ‘As long as you don’t tell anyone about the event.’

‘There’s nothing to gain from that, only more riots,’ she said as if he were absolutely stupid. ‘Maybe the Cult of Crowley, as we call it, demanding to _visit_.’

Hang on— ‘Cult of Crowley?’

‘Oh, you didn’t know?’ She raised an eyebrow. The you’re-an-idiot look intensified, and he was about to admonish her for it, seriously, he was still he superior, but she immediately continued. ‘Some demons think he’s the second Lucifer, being all powerful like that, started worshipping him. There are more demons who either hate him or are afraid of him, but… the number’s growing. Hastur’s just told me.’

Blast him all the way to Heaven, what a development! And he… _might_ just be a bit of an idiot for not knowing about something like that going on in his own kingdom[2].

‘They’re not exactly _wrong_ , are they? He _is_ my older brother,’ he snorted.

‘We’re trying to contain the threat, but there _is_ the possibility that it might get out of—’

‘Control, yes, everything always does. That’s why I’m here—for now. Keep me updated on _everything_ as of now, will you?’ She gave him a curt, buzzing nod. ‘Excellent, Lord Beelzebub. Dismissed.’

She left. He only had one—well, no, three thoughts in mind. What would Crowley say about that? What did it mean for the two of them? And what did it, all of it, mean for Hell?

* * *

1 Should someone wonder why he was always holed up in his office instead of actually sitting _on_ the Throne, it was precisely because of all that. No one could see him over there unless he let them, but it still counted as being present in Hell, so no one could accuse him of anything.[✿]

2 Well, they _were_ trying to hush it up and get rid of said demons, but the success rate was, obviously, low. And there was the curse of knowledge again, the _I thought you knew_ problem, which was _really_ starting to complicate things. But he knew now![✿]


	22. Sweet Nightmares

_Everything around him burnt. Something tight held his lungs in a cage and wouldn’t let go. His wings were on fire too, or at least they felt that way when he tried to move them._

_Everything hurt. His skin looked absolutely fine when he checked, but on the inside? Fucking lava._

_He looked up and saw a jagged landscape, lots of black, lots of yellow-tinted orange. He saw angels and monsters and angels turning into monsters crawling around him and this—figure in uncertain black that he instinctively knew to be Lucifer._

_One feeling screamed at him from underneath his skull: he had to get out. He didn’t know how or why, but he had to get out._

_‘No,’ he said to the figure. ‘I don’t want power. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want anyone to know I’m here, please, brother. I didn’t ask for any of this. I—’_

_Wait. He’s done this whole thing before. He didn’t feel like he did, but there was this something in his mind that told him that yes, he’d had the conversation before, like a bloody déjà vu._

_His heart was beating fast almost like a hummingbird’s, and it still bloody hurt. The black figure in front of him suddenly changed shape and became golden for a moment, then turned into a regular, human-shaped being wearing an expensive suit. ‘We could rule together, you and I,’ he said. He offered his pale hand._

_Crowley shook his head. He looked for escape routes. Looked behind him, at the lake that burnt bright and actually looked more like an oil stain than boiling sulphur. Angels drowned in it like seagulls and pelicans._

_He looked up. There was—nothing. Something, but nothing. Indescribable. Looking at it made his head spin._

_He looked back at Lucifer and closed his heavy wings around himself. ‘Promise me that you won’t tell anyone about me. No one can know.’_

_No one could know._

_No one._

_That was the other feeling, fighting for power with the need to get out. They were balanced._

_Crowley channelled all the power left inside him. It was nigh impossible. Like getting out of quicksand. He struggled against himself, still looking for an escape—and then he wasn’t an angel anymore, he was a snake, small, agile, black. Snakes could crawl through tiny holes. Go by unobserved. Kill, heal. This wasn’t the first time, no. Only then he’d been golden._

_He’d borne a golden staff, too. Where did that thing end up? He couldn’t see it anywhere._

_Lucifer looked at him from above. ‘I promise you, brother. You made a good choice.’ He smirked. ‘There’s no place for angels in Hell. Crawl away if you will, crawly-crawl-crawl! No one will notice you like this if you stay out of trouble. Now get lost. And keep your wings hidden if you know what’s good for you, and for me.’_

_‘I promise as well,’ said a second figure, Beelzebub in her suit and sash. She wasn’t there before, but has always been. ‘And I promise it’s the last kind word you’ll hear from me in a long time.’_

_He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t say anything; what was going on? His mouth was glued together. His heart sped up. He didn’t like this. The burn of the ground. The—prison. This was a prison! And he didn’t belong! Wrongfully convicted, with his brother as his jailor—_

_No, no. He had to disappear. This was dangerous._

_It was something he’s been through before, but… different. It was an internal feeling, inexplicable. Was any of it real? It felt real._

_He turned around and came eye-to-eye with another angel. Demon? Scales, she had. As soon as he recognised her as Dagon, she became her. The image didn’t exactly belong._

_‘Raphael, is that you?’ she said, not at all like Dagon. Her face was twisting, unclear. Silver, then scaly again._

_He opened his mouth. ‘Erm, no. No, it’s not, leave me alone!’ Ah, that worked, then._

_She looked confused. ‘My lord, leave you alone?’_

_‘No, I’m—fuck—no.’ He winced. Panic seized him. He didn’t want anyone to know; it was bad enough that Lucifer and Beelzebub knew about him, but they could keep his secret and benefit from it. If word got out, they’d make him a Prince or something—_

_No, he didn’t want attention. He had to stay out of trouble, like Lucifer said. Power didn’t equal staying out of trouble._

_‘Forget you saw me. Forget me. Lucifer’s there, follow him!’_

_Faster than a snake should be able to, he crawled away, behind a rock nearby where no demons lurked about. He looked up again, into that nothingness, and furrowed his brow. He could do that, even if he was a snake, and didn’t question it._

_‘Why?’ he asked it, fighting an invisible pressure pushing down on him. ‘Why did you do this? Why cast me down, all I ever did was—’ He heard screams. They were there this whole time, cries of agony, and his lungs were still contorted and his heart frantic._

_‘My **siblings**!’ he shouted. ‘My own siblings did that, like they didn’t **care**! Azrael wasn’t—but the rest of them, bastards! Well, they lost me forever, they did, I won’t come crawling at their feet begging to take me back. They don’t deserve that! Never! No one will know who I am!’_

_Hide. He had to hide, to protect himself, if he was a nobody, he’d be safe. No power. No name. Just a demon._

_Who deserved his punishment, didn’t he? He was irredeemable, unforgivable, damned forever. Well, damn them! No one would know his name. They wouldn’t recognise him like this. They couldn’t._

_A snake. He’d be safe._

_No one no one no one—_

_He continued crawling. Another figure barred his path. He hissed at them as he looked up. Some random demon he’d probably met at some point, unimportant. Their eyes widened for a moment, but Crowley thought, no, I’m not who you think you are, go away, don’t notice me._

_They blinked and shuffled on, torn, disfigured, towards their new Lord._

_The snake went the other way and almost fell into a hole in the ground—_

Crowley woke up with a start.

‘Wh-what-where—’ He looked around, trying to catch his breath. The bedroom. The cottage. Gloomy morning light, plants, the Mona Lisa sketch, feather-patterned duvet cases. He was home, right next to Aziraphale. Of course he was. That was just a dream.

A fucking nightmare about the beginnings of fucking _Hell_.

He was surprised he didn’t wake up as a snake, actually[1]. What _was_ that? He’s been free of these dreams for a few centuries now, and suddenly they were back? He stretched his incorporeal wings. They _hurt_.

‘My love?’ Aziraphale asked. Crowley whipped around, mouth slightly parted and eyes carrying what was surely a wild look. Aziraphale let out a micro-gasp. ‘Are you alright?’

‘‘Twas just a bad dream,’ he said, sleepily. ‘About—doesn’t matter what about. I woke up. Erm. Breakfast?’ He scratched his nose and blinked.

‘It’s six a.m.,’ Aziraphale said, gaze minutely slipping to the clock to ensure that yes, it was still six a.m., and then back to Crowley. He was lying on his back, wearing a white t-shirt he used as pyjamas in summer. A closed book lay on his stomach, cover down[2].

‘Yeah, and?’ He felt like blinking again. He didn’t.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, very slowly. ‘When have _you_ , in all our existence as, err, beings with common goals and common sleeping areas, voluntarily got up before nine?’

Crowley waved him off. ‘Pssh, I do it all the time!’ he lied. He threw his duvet aside to show that he was about to get up. ‘I’m gonna go make us some tea.’

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said.

‘Aziraphale,’ he mocked, deadpan. He still made no move to _actually_ get up.

‘Was that a nightmare?’ Aziraphale asked, seeing right through him. He fussed with the edge of his duvet[3]. ‘Do you… want to talk about it?’

He snorted. ‘I _clearly_ don’t, but okay, angel, I’ll humour you since you wouldn’t stop dithering all morning. I was in Hell, at the beginning, becoming my very dark demony self and talking to Lucifer about my—’

His voice died in his throat. _Identity_. But that wasn’t how it happened, none of that. His brain was playing games with him. He remembered that one _very_ well. Dagon never saw him, or anyone else, and the snake thing _definitely_ wasn’t _his_ idea. It was Lucifer’s.

Right?

‘About the whole thing. How I didn’t want to rule, yadda yadda yadda, same old scene[4]. But I really don’t want to go back to sleep right now for unrelated reasons, so unless you have better ideas, let’s have breakfast. I sure as _Heaven_ need some ‘spresso.’

He began to turn towards the wall and door.

‘ _Crowley_ ,’ Aziraphale said once more, with feeling. He caught his wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘You never told me about this one, and I don’t believe you for a second that the reasons are unrelated. I know you too well for that. It’s our wedding day, so will you _please_ be honest with me?’

He let out a sigh. Then a spasm shot through him and he perked up. _Wedding day._ Bonding day, whatever you wished to call it—it was today. This afternoon.

And he dreaded that almost as the bloody Apocalypse.

They haven’t heard anything about Hell since Amenadiel called last week, or about his siblings, anything. And if they really wanted to come and bear witness to it, and to ask him to take the Throne, _again_ , he didn’t know just _what_ he might do. Or what might Aziraphale do, for that matter.

And as much as he needed answers to his questions and dilemmas, the moment he might actually get some was _this_ close and he was bloody nervous, not-being-nervous-as-a-rule be blessed.

‘It’s our wedding day,’ he repeated.

‘It is,’ said Aziraphale. He reached out with his other hand and cupped his cheek. He was warm. Radiant. Crowley closed his eyes.

Flashes of images from the dream couldn’t help crossing his eyelids. Bad bloody idea. He forced them open again and just lay there for a while, gazing into Aziraphale’s azure eyes.

‘I used to dream about that, the Fall. I don’t anymore, but I guess all this talk about Hell… the Throne… the truth… brought it back,’ he said, almost a whisper. ‘It was different though. Not how it happened.’

‘Oh?’ Aziraphale prompted.

Crowley frowned by habit. He really didn’t want to talk about it.

But… was it? It’s been so long it would be almost impossible _not_ to forget bits of it. Immortal memory was hardly faultless. More so with the trauma that this particular event carried with it.

‘I made myself a snake in this one. Met Dagon; she recognised me. Some other demon, too, but I confused their thoughts or something. I was thinking about not wanting to be known so hard that I must’ve… I dunno, done something to reality. But it was just a dream, ‘s not the second end of the world. We all have nightmares.’

‘Crowley…’ Aziraphale said, and then paused as if he couldn’t find the right words. ‘There’s… always something true to dreams, especially for us. Is it possible that that might have been the actual memory, what you saw?’

‘What—do you mean? I know what’s real, angel.’ He shook his head, between the pillow and Aziraphale’s hand.

‘No, listen to me. Ever since Lucifer came here and told you about the possibilities, ever since the Holy Water incident, you’ve been Thinking, capital-T Thinking. Bringing up repressed memories. So it’s not unfeasible to think that you might have repressed and overwritten that one as well, maybe it’s… your subconscious trying to tell you something.’

‘Are you saying that—that—that I _what_ , subconsciously erased everyone’s memories of me _myself_ because of my celestial imaginative powers that somehow overcame a divide between realms? Don’t be daft.’

Aziraphale pouted. ‘Well, perhaps not. But dreams aren’t to be taken lightly.’

‘Yeah, okay. Thankssss,’ he hissed, on the verge of irritation. Aziraphale pulled his hand back, and he missed it immediately. ‘Sss—sorry. It’s just _too much_ , y’know, and now you’re adding this theory to all that baggage? Because it makes sense, angel, and I _don’t want it to make sense_.’

If God had done it, that would’ve been easy. For some fucked up reason, She’d decide to put a lock on the memories of him, fine. He could get behind that. She’d done worse things. But if _he_ had done it and didn’t even _know it_ , well.

That was something else.

‘Do you think I do?’ Aziraphale all but whimpered. He rolled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling, the cracks on which had been fixed in a similar fashion a while ago. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you to tell me.’

‘Nah, ‘s fine, that was hardly pushing,’ Crowley said. He swung out of bed and jumped to his feet. ‘But I still need coffee. Doub—no, _triple_. And maybe a swim. Join me?’

That was the advantage of living so close to the sea: he could get up and jump into the waves whenever he felt like it. He could let the streams carry his body away or dive deep into the cold darkness, _escape_ for a while. It was cathartic in times of need.

Wasn’t to be found in London, for sure.

He missed the hustle and bustle of the metropolis, all the _chaos_ he could cause, all the different restaurants and various museums, but it wasn’t half so bad, moving away for a while. There were forests, and castles, and long country roads he could drive down at 120 mph in the middle of the night without fear of hitting someone. Not so many humans. Cities nearby, yes, but far enough. They’d lived in London for centuries—it had been high time for a change of scenery.

It had only taken about a day of ruminating when Aziraphale had asked[5] if Crowley wouldn’t fancy buying a house and perhaps moving to the South Downs together, really.

‘At six in the morning?’ the angel asked, still sounding surprised about it. Was it so hard to believe that Crowley, though not a morning demon, would want to go out?

‘At six in the morning, sure,’ he said. He cracked the joints in his neck and wiggled his eyebrows. ‘Let’s carpe the hell out of this diem!’

And forget about any and all nightmares, thank you very much.

‘Now you’re just bastardising a perfectly good phrase,’ Aziraphale said, shooting a disapproving glance his way. He put the book aside and got out of bed regardless.

‘I’m a bastard, angel, deal with it.’ Crowley grinned. ‘After today, you’ll be hearing shit like that twenty-four-seven because telepathyyyyy!’ he yelled, stretching out his arms.

‘Oh Lord, what have I done,’ was Aziraphale’s deadpan response.

‘Having second thoughts?’

‘Are you?’

‘You bloody _wish_.’

* * *

1 Yes, this happened sometimes. He’d have a dream where he was in his snake form, crawling through Eden or lying on a shelf at the bookshop and making fun of nervous customers, and then he’d wake up also in snake form. Curled around Aziraphale, sometimes, and once even in a plant pot.[✿]

2 He didn’t sleep, usually. He spent the nights reading, doing crossword puzzles, or writing in his journal, on the bed next to Crowley if Crowley did, but he didn’t sleep.[✿]

3 Crowley might have invented single duvets, but he would never, ever use one himself. They were _evil_. Either you stole it all or your partner stole it all, and in any case, someone was always cold, someone was always too warm, and no one could make little comfortable blanket nests in the middle of the bed that also served as clear borders that weren’t to be trespassed if cuddling wasn’t on the menu.[✿]

4 He had explained this one to Aziraphale right away, on the day Lucifer came to their house. He’d been asking about ruling, after all, so it was an unavoidable subject. Even if Crowley, understandably, hated talking about the Fall.[✿]

5 That was what, eight, nine months ago? It wasn’t so long after the Apocawhoops. But blimey, it definitely felt like less; if you asked Crowley, he’d tell you that they’ve been living there for five months tops. Time flew by so fast—it was 1980 just now, what do you mean 2020’s next year?[✿]


	23. Light and Shade

‘So, how are we gonna do this?’ Crowley looked from Aziraphale to Amenadiel, an almost manic grin on his face. His toes dug into warm sand. It was getting a little _too_ warm to his taste lately, seriously, what was _up_ with the weather?

Why did they have to pick _this_ day of all days, for that matter? 29th June, probably the hottest day of the year: so many people wanted to go to the beach that he’d had to put up a sign that said something about dead fish and an oil leak and had an extra repulsion miracle plastered onto it just to be safe. But, no matter. There was no sense in postponing this for _heat_.

Amenadiel has come all the way from LA just for the occasion—not that it mattered when you could fly, but the sentiment was there. He’s had coffee with them[1] and everything.

He gave Crowley an amused smile. ‘You of all people should know that, brother.’

He resisted a groan at the familiar address. ‘Yeah, I—shut up. It’s been a while.’

For the record, he was never bonded to anyone before; he’d just been the one who _performed_ the bonding a few times. A really long time ago.

‘I’ve prepared the sigils beforehand; just step inside, cross your arms, and join them,’ Amenadiel said. He demonstrated the gesture, rather needlessly, and Crowley and Aziraphale took a tentative step into a sigil drawn in the sand. It was a circle with the infinity symbol[2] in the middle, filled with Enochian runes and _radiating_ power. They both stood in one half of the eight.

Some of that power held it together, too. You wouldn’t want wind or dry sand falling down on itself ruining it, would you?

Crowley gave Aziraphale a crooked smile as he took his hands. His hair billowed in the wind, and the sun shone right in his uncovered eyes, but what could you do. No sunglasses allowed. Aziraphale smiled back. They looked ridiculous, he imagined, wearing their regular clothes and no shoes to what was basically a _wedding_.

‘Great,’ Amenadiel continued. ‘I’ll read the incantation now. Your wings will probably pop out, but don’t be alarmed[3]. It might hurt, too, especially when one of you is a demon and the other an angel, but no matter what you do, _do not let go_ , do you understand? Are you ready?’

‘Ready Freddy,’ said Crowley, cocking his head. He was still nervous, but shh, not a _word_.

‘Yes.’ Aziraphale nodded, much calmer. ‘I’m ready.’

Crowley was actually glad for Lucifer and his little slip earlier, because it would be _very_ awkward if Aziraphale should learn about his ex-Archangelic nature in the middle of the ritual. There was one thing he should thank him for, he supposed.

The other thing was not showing up.

Amenadiel was disappointed when none of them did, but he, for one, was _exhilarated_.

Amenadiel took a step closer, and then Enochian words that Crowley hasn’t heard for literal millennia started flowing out of his mouth. The symbols in the sigil gradually lit up with pale, bluish light, one by one until the eight was complete.

Crowley felt the world around him shift. With _all_ his senses, even those he didn’t often use in the human world. He saw Aziraphale in his flesh form, bewildered eyes staring at him—but there wasn’t just the usual faint glow around him anymore. There was _more_.

Wings, for one. Immaterial, but he could _see_ them. They fluttered behind the angel and puffed up, bright as anything.

And actually—the brightness was everywhere. Pure divinity, radiating from what was less Aziraphale’s soft body and more his true form. It twisted in the air and reached for him in wisps and tendrils, gentle and careful but powerful enough to—

_Hurt_.

When he reached back, it hurt. Just like Amenadiel said.

Holy Water was one thing, but this raw _essence_ was about a thousand times stronger; of course it did. He was a demon—enough of a demon—who knew anymore—for all this ethereal energy to burn when it touched his dark, damned core.

But it also felt so, so _good_.

It was _Aziraphale_ , the being he’s befriended on the walls of Eden and slowly fallen in love with over the six millennia spent together, piece by piece. The being he probably knew better than himself, and vice versa. The being whose presence he was accustomed to and missed after a few weeks[4] of absence. The one who annoyed him by calling him nice and who was annoyed in turn by being called old-fashioned.

The energy was familiar. It felt a lot like love. Capital-L Love, experienced first-hand, premium subscription for an unlimited deal only for the price of a bit of your soul. But who needed the whole thing anyway when you could plaster it with a bit of someone else’s and call it quits?

Crowley let it in, the full force of Love-and-Pain-and-Aziraphale. He saw his own being expand, burst beyond his corporation, all wings and his animal faces, something he hasn’t seen since _getting_ the body, way before the Fall. They were all… there. Humanoid, serpent, crow, cat[5]. He honestly hadn’t been sure if they hadn’t changed after he’d Fallen, but apparently not.

Also, having four heads all of a sudden was weird when you weren’t used to it.

But it was exactly what he’d _needed_ to see, to… _know_. He was made of negative light, the kind that sucked everything in and left only darkness behind, but it was still _light_. It was… highly interesting. To explore later, for sure.

He saw Aziraphale’s faces too. They’d taken his secondary wings when they’d demoted him, but they couldn’t remodel his man-arctic fox-swan-cat[6] form. Which he hadn’t known about before, so he was just as surprised to see them all as anyone.

They soaked each other up. Angel and demon coiled and twisted around each other, and _in_ each other, as Amenadiel recited the incantation.

_Crowley_ , Aziraphale said. It echoed through Crowley’s mind, not really a voice, not really a thought either. Just a presence. That was a bit strange too, to be honest. He said his name again, _Crowley. You’re…_

_I’m what?_ Crowley asked. Himself or Aziraphale, he wasn’t sure.

_Beautiful_ , he answered with a smile. Crowley could swear he could actually see _himself_ through Aziraphale’s eyes there for a while, which was weird too, kind of like when they swapped bodies that one time. But—

_Can you see that? There’s light in your core, under all that… absorbing darkness. I think that you’re very much still a demon—it sort of tingles, actually—but there’s light, there, and it’s not mine._ He reached out and touched that bit that was a celestial being’s heart. _You were right_.

_What?_ was all Crowley could say. No, really. _What? I was—_

Something yanked him out of trance before he could finish that, and he found himself staring into Aziraphale’s eyes, though still _beyond_ Aziraphale’s eyes, in the material plane. Right. The sigil, joined hands. Amenadiel. Wings—oh, they weren’t there before, he’d been right about that one too.

A tear running down his face. That sure as Heaven wasn’t there before. Crowley blinked. It only made it worse, but he couldn’t let go, not yet.

But he _saw_ it, didn’t he? Irrefutable proof.

Then he noticed something else. Or rather _someone_ else. A whole bunch of them, having come late to the party but still bothering to come, for some inexplicable reason. Well, _fuck_.

Azrael was giving him an apologetic smile, at least, the complete opposite of Gabriel and Uriel’s sour faces and Michael’s special sort of astonished expressionlessness. Aziraphale was staring at something behind Crowley, which Crowley knew to be Lucifer without looking because _Aziraphale_ knew.

Oh, this would take a while to get used to.

But _Lucifer_? Who the fuck invited him? Crowley thought he wasn’t allowed in the group chat.

‘Siblings, you came!’ Amenadiel said. He turned his head towards the King of Hell. ‘Even you, Luci! It’s been too long since all seven of us were together like this.’

* * *

1 Aziraphale was a bit uneasy at first, having another tall, imposing Archangel walk into the house. Especially when he used to be in charge before he left Earthwards for the sake of persuading Lucifer to get back to Hell—oh, how the tables have turned—and gave the office to Gabriel. He wasn’t exactly Aziraphale’s favourite angel. But they sat down and talked, and soon Aziraphale began to relax and see that they had plenty of things in common.[✿]

2 Or an 8, depends on how you look at it.[✿]

3 This was why they needed open space in the first place. It wouldn’t do to have one’s rather large wings materialising in the living room and knocking down the shelves.[✿]

4 They used to go hundreds of years without seeing each other, at first, so that was saying something.[✿]

5 The myth that humans created around all Cherubim having the same aspects of a man, a bull, a lion, and an eagle was wrong. Each of them had different ones. They vastly represented the same thing, the four elements, four aspects of life and every living thing, but they also reflected one’s personality. Humans didn’t really see more than one in their true form, so they wouldn’t know. Bodies became compulsory for everyone associated with Earth after that. But really, they couldn’t all have _eagle_ wings, could they?[✿]

6 They had the cat in common, but if you must know, Aziraphale’s was a Persian and Crowley’s was a Sphynx.[✿]


	24. A Basketful of Trouble

Crowley didn’t like this. He _really_ didn’t like this.

First of all, he didn’t even get to seal the marriage with a kiss. Yes, it was a human tradition, but they did live among humans, and he liked kissing Aziraphale a whole lot.

Secondly, it _always_ ended in a disaster when five or more of them found themselves in one place. That was just statistics. Sometimes even three was enough. See: Armageddoff. And this was the _last_ day he needed something like that to happen, seriously.

Thirdly—

Amenadiel cleared his throat. ‘You can let go now; the ritual is complete.’

Right. This was probably no time for internal monologues—which Aziraphale might just be able to hear as of now if Crowley wasn’t careful about turning off the projecting[1]. They had other fish to fry.

Aziraphale was the one to pull away first, an apologetic smile on his face. The touch faded, but the presence didn’t. Crowley stretched his prickling hands and shot an accusatory glance at Amenadiel. Too long? Since the _War in Heaven_. And there was a reason for it.

Before he could let but a disgruntled syllable out, Michael said, ‘It really is—you.’

He allowed his primary wings to extend to their full size and showed off their opalescent gleam in the sun. Yes, it really was _him_. ‘Great, yeah, take a look, everyone, now that you’re here. _Why_ are you here? And don’t tell me you’ve come to _apologise_.’

He felt something like exasperation coming from Aziraphale, but also that he was curious about the same thing and sort of wanted to punch Gabriel in the face. Huh.

‘I need to talk to you,’ said Lucifer. He was carrying something. A… gift basket[2]? He scoffed at the awful weather and walked to join the two of them, much to Crowley’s displeasure. He sent the others a scornful look. ‘Beelzebub told me you might be here. I did rather hope you wouldn’t, though.’

‘Hammer hits the nail…’ Crowley mumbled under his breath. Then the thing, which was indeed a _gift basket_ , was shoved into his hands.

‘And I brought you two a wedding gift!’

Crowley inspected it. It was fully wrapped, so he couldn’t see its contents. It was probably a good thing. He passed it to Aziraphale with the words, ‘Erm, thanks. Appreciated.’

‘I’d have been here sooner, but putting this together delayed my arrival somewhat,’ he said. ‘Yes, we don’t _do_ wedding gifts, but I think you’ll like this one. You only get bonded once[3], am I right?’

‘Thought you were pissed at him,’ said Gabriel, smugly. Crowley raised an eyebrow. He was?

‘Well, the circumstances have changed,’ Lucifer said, equally smug.

Oh? Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a Look. Aziraphale said, in his head, _It’s probably about your… idea about the Throne. Which didn’t work. And now he wants to get in your, erm, good graces again, so he’s…_ He lifted the basket, which got the point across.

Uriel cleared their throat. ‘Beelzebub?’ they asked Lucifer. ‘Only the five of us were aware of this; how the hell did it get to… _Hell_?’

Crowley risked a glance at Gabriel, who pressed his lips together and avoided eye contact like the plague. Was Uriel the only one who didn’t know? Michael and Azrael would know _everything_ , they’ve always been the gossip collectors and secret keepers of Heaven.

Lucifer did the same, apparently. He cast a meaningful glance his way and said, ‘We have our ways.’ Then he put on a smile and directed his attention to Uriel. ‘It’s good to see you alive and well, sibling! I do hope that we can put everything behind us and rub no more salt in the wound. I’d hate us to be at daggers drawn again—wouldn’t you?’

Crowley didn’t really know what had happened between them, but right now he’d bet a million quid it had something to do with being stabbed.

‘Give me your sword, Az, because I for one disagree,’ Uriel said dryly, looking him dead in the eye. Glaring daggers, even[4].

Aziraphale shifted, rather confused, and finally spoke. ‘My sword?’

‘Not you, _Azrael_. Lucifer stabbed me with it, my own _brother_ , and now he has to flaunt it like—’

‘My sword’s gone, Luci created a universe and threw it in, together with the Goddess. You know that,’ Azrael cut in, giving them a pointed look. It was an excuse; they probably had a new one already. Crowley approved. He might not like any of them, but he’d still rather anyone didn’t stab anyone today.

‘It was too dangerous to keep around,’ Lucifer said. ‘If it got in the hands of humans ag—’

But, _wait_. Crowley furrowed his brow and asked, ‘What’s that with Mum now?’

She wasn’t in Hell anymore? Since when? The word didn’t get to him. Aziraphale seemed to be none the wiser, sending confusion his way along with the pensive frown on his brow. Guess that was another thing both parties decided to sweep under the carpet.

‘There’s no time to deal with that now,’ Uriel said. They took a step towards Lucifer. ‘I’ll just summon my own sword then, although it lacks the poetry.’

Gabriel put a hand on their arm. ‘If you discorporate him, Hell might _react_.’ He shot a phoney smile at Lucifer, one of his idiosyncrasies. ‘As much as I’d love to see them do it, _brother_. Here’s to a happy reunion… not.’

Crowley groaned. ‘ _No_ , not a _not_ joke…’

‘ _Please_ ,’ Amenadiel shouted. ‘Everyone, calm down. Luci is sorry about that—right, Luci?—and no one will be stabbing _anyone_ today. I called you here to reconnect, to finally do _better_.’

‘Well, they _obviously_ aren’t interested, Mr Goody-Two-Wings,’ Crowley said, snapping his lips together. Thanks to the absence of glasses, he could give him a Look. ‘They just want me to claim the fucking throne.’

Amenadiel almost froze on the spot. Something was spinning inside his mind; you could just see it. In the end, he settled on a defensive and somewhat defeated, ‘I have six wings.’

‘That’s an expression! Oh my Ssssss—teven.’ Crowley had to take a deep breath. Maybe it was the constant burn of the sun, maybe it was the high concentration of arseholishness in the air, but his blood really felt like starting to boil any minute now. He had nothing against Amenadiel, no, but _he_ was the one who’d invited the rest. He turned to his angel. ‘Aziraphale, we’re going inside now.’

Aziraphale said, ‘No.’

90 per cent of the atoms in Crowley’s dropped their proverbial jaw. The other 10 already knew and didn’t like it.

‘No, we’re not. You’re siblings, and you’ve been ignoring each other for too long. It’s not right. You need to talk. I’ll be here, with my sword a thought away, and I know how to make at least a _dozen_ unpleasant spells out of that sigil; I read _books_. So. Go on.’

The expressions on Uriel and Gabriel’s faces suggested fearful respect. Amenadiel added, ‘Aziraphale’s right.’

Crowley sent a quick _I love you but I also hate you a whole lot right now_ his way, with a frown. He forgot, _again_ , that Aziraphale could hear it now. But he was still proud of himself for installing that fear in their minds with the bodyswap trick. And now he was _bonded_ to him, a demon! And their brother no less! He was _family_ , the one they’d wanted to get rid of so badly. A thought about sweet vengeance popped to mind.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked a grin, his wings ruffling for a second before folding away. Aziraphale did the same. ‘Alright! Do actually apologise to both of us and then we can talk.’

‘Apologise for _what_?’ asked Gabriel, like the idiot he was.

‘Trying to kill us. Demoting Aziraphale and treating him the way you did. Banishing me without mercy and never checking in, not once—even though that one wasn’t your fault, not directly… Still. Being hypocritical arseholes? I dunno, you choose, but preferably all of that.’

‘He means you, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel,’ added Aziraphale. He used the same polite tone reserved for taxmen and shady people in black suits who tried to buy his shop and were promptly disposed of. It made ants crawl along one’s spine.

Gabriel opened his mouth, no doubt to grace everyone with an uncreative insult. Crowley was, just then, glad that he didn’t get the chance, if only for a nanosecond.

A hole opened in the ground, and Beelzebub bubbled up to the surface. Gabriel stared at her. He wasn’t the only one. Her coat was torn at the sleeve—and was that blood running down her cheek? What the Heaven?

‘Demon—’ Gabriel said, harshly, fooling no one. Well, fooling Uriel.

‘There was a revolt. They waited till Lucifer went up, must’ve had spies in the Castle or something,’ she said. She looked at the King. ‘There’s too many of them. You need to come back. Fuck, _Crowley_ needzz to come back. That’s why you’re _here_ , izzn’t it?’

* * *

1 Despite what someone with no real insight into metaphysical bonds might think, any given two (or more) bonded beings didn’t hear each other’s thoughts and projections non-stop, no. It was entirely controllable and reduceable to background feelings, sort of like Crowley’s Angel-in-Trouble Detector™ but just a tad stronger. In the first few weeks, however, this might prove a little difficult, and one might find oneself having to rein in embarrassing thoughts more often than not, or discovering that lies didn’t work anymore.[✿]

2 For a second there, a terrifying memory of another Lucifer-related basket and a dark graveyard crossed his mind, but that was just ridiculous; this was a sunny beach, and no more Antichrists were happening anytime soon.[✿]

3 Divorce, in this case, would be rather complicated.[✿]

4 Crowley had to.[✿]


	25. Pandemonium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for some violence in this one. 
> 
> Also, one of my favourite bands, In This Moment, released a new album recently, and there's a song called [Born in Flames](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAAhjtV7QJI), which is absolutely an anthem of bonded angel-demon couples, A&C especially. And this whole fic I guess. Go listen! Really, the whole album has this ~vibe~ (as does their previous one, Ritual) that I can't really describe but it's just. Magical. Supernatural. (She also sings a lot about being half-angel half-demon and similar themes, so there's that.)

Generally, Lucifer was the kind of person who sent scared messenger boys to Beelzebub’s office to fetch her, her busy schedule regardless. He didn’t come knocking and demanding an audience himself. When he’d found her at the Starbucks? A single, unusual incident.

Trust her, then, when she said that she was surprised to see him practically kick the door in just now. And it was _not_ a pleasant surprise. She has _just_ sent Mammon and Asmodeus out and finally had a moment to review Hastur’s reports on the Cult of Crowley—which he was very happy to provide—and then he comes in, all sickeningly shiny and _way_ too angelic?

She was beginning to see why some demons wanted to do away with him. He _has_ changed.

‘My Lord,’ she said, expressionlessly.

‘Beelzebub! Just the demon I need,’ he said, ‘to tell me how fucked we are at the moment.’

She looked him up and down, noticing the unusually crisp suit and the book in his hand. Seeing that it was Saturday, probably[1], it wasn’t too hard to draw conclusions. ‘You’re really going to the ceremony, aren’t you?’

‘What did the Princes say?’ he asked, deflecting.

‘Leviathan will probably take a while to convince, but the others are fine enough with running the place as your, erm, _ministers_. The general populace vastly disagrees though.’

She really wanted to add an _I told you so_ , but that would only add fuel to the Hellfire caused by the debate yesterday. He hadn’t been foolish enough to make a big announcement in front of everyone yet, but he had got together a number of powerful denizens of all castes and presented the idea of a new system of rule. With a Powerpoint, even. Some had liked it, but some…

Well, rumours travelled fast, and a meeting had to have been gathered before something happened. The statistics presented weren’t favourable. It was Hell, after all.

‘There’s your answer,’ Lucifer said, gesturing with the book. ‘And my answer too, I suppose. Yes, I’m really going to the ceremony. I’ve got to talk to Crowley about the Cult, the parliament, everything. And maybe even—’ He flinched. ‘I hate to say this, but maybe even to Uriel. They could help us predict the outcomes of any and all of our actions if they don’t murder me on the spot. _If_ they’re there.’

Ah, Uriel, the pattern-seeing one. They were the worst bitch of them all, but that ability would come in handy. Beelzebub hummed in neither agreement nor disagreement.

‘I shouldn’t be gone for more than four hours, five tops; no one needs to know I’m not in my office. This should be simple!’ he said, a bit too enthusiastically again. ‘I’ve still got to figure out what to give them as a wedding gift though. I’ve got this book for Aziraphale, but…’

‘Ask some humans. We don’t _do_ wedding gifts.’

‘Right, you’re right—but a little bribe can’t hurt, can it?’ He put the book under his arm. ‘Well, call me if something happens. I’ll be off now, hopefully to get us some ideas, or at least to forget about all these issues for a while. I’d hate to have to resort to the cruelty and violence of the early days, believe me.’

She did, and that was the problem. He’s gone too bloody soft to deal with all this trouble the proper, murderous way of the merciless king he used to be. But unless _she_ wanted to find herself locked up and tried for treason, she had to stand by his side no matter what and endure this situation. She wasn’t _stupid_ , unlike the rest of them. Hell has erased pretty much all demons’ common sense to the last _drop_ , but Beelzebub liked to think that she had at least a few of those still left somewhere.

‘Sure,’ she said. Lucifer turned to leave. ‘Before you go—what do you want me to do with Crowley’s supporters? Hastur’s got the name of their leader out of one of them, has him in custody.’ She lifted the topmost file. ‘I’ve been going through the reports today.’

‘Nothing,’ he decided, much to her surprise. ‘Chances are that we might need someone who’d support his claim should it come to it. Have a bad day[2], Beelzebub!’

He shut the door behind him—or tried to, because you had to know this special manoeuvre to really close it all the way, thanks to its slightly rotten woodenness. He let it go when it didn’t work and rushed off to the gates. Beelzebub let her head fall into the palms of her hands with a heavy, buzzing sigh. Hastur _won’t_ be happy about that development.

Maybe everyone would be better off if she discorporated him now and dealt with the situation herself. It’s been a while since she got to roast that cockroach alive, or anyone really, and she was in sore need of letting off some _actual_ steam.

She snapped the file shut and marched out of the office[3]. It was a few floors down to the dungeons.

She shoved a few demons waiting for the lift out of the way, telling them to wait for the next one, and got inside the filthy cubicle, where the light always flickered and badly-played violins always squeaked from the loudspeaker. It moved down with a screech and bumped upon landing.

Typical.

It didn’t take her long to find Hastur in one of the cells. ‘Thanks for the reports,’ she told him, ‘you may go now.’

‘Go wh—’

He didn’t get to finish asking. Beelzebub clicked her fingers, summoning a trickle of flames. She quickly transformed it into a fireball and sent it his way without so much as a blink of an eye. He made a satisfying torch for a few seconds there, before his screams as well as his body dissolved.

‘To the discorporation paperwork queue,’ she told no one in particular, smirking. Then she turned to the demon. He hung chained to a wall. She loosened his shackles with another snap.

‘Lord Beelzebub,’ he said. His eyes widened.

Beelzebub gripped his throat and pushed him against the wall. ‘Now listen, you scum, don’t think I’m saving your arse out of _mercy_ or _benevolence_. But your _real_ king, Lucifer, has chosen to leave you to do as you please because he doesn’t see you as enough of a threat. Consider this a warning though: if you so much as stir a bit of wind, I _will_ find you and your followers and finish what _he_ started, and it’ll be much, much worse. Understood?’

The demon, whose name she hadn’t bothered to learn, rasped and gasped for air he didn’t need. He still managed to nod. She let him go and said, ‘Good. Know where your loyalties lie.’

‘You know what he is, don’t you?’ he asked, rubbing at his neck, almost as pale as death. He was all but grinning. ‘Master Crowley?’

‘Do you want me to change my mind?’ she drawled, setting her index finger alight again.

Killing him would likely lead to a revolt from his followers… but then again, they could be disposed of as well, and she could always blame Hastur and his hatred for Crowley, which has always clouded his judgement somewhat.

He shook his head and shuffled away from her. Pity.

‘Now get the heaven out!’

He did. That should do it, she thought. They wouldn’t dare stir trouble, not knowing that Lucifer knew about them and had an eye on them. If the files were any clue, they were a bunch of sycophantic lower demons who pushed papers in the Earth Department anyway; that didn’t exactly spell danger in and of itself.

Beelzebub took the lift back upstairs.

Only instead of her floor of the Castle, it stopped at the ground floor. She frowned at the buttons and thought the disobedient piece of shite into continuing on its way[4]. But it didn’t. It opened its doors instead. Beelzebub sighed and stepped out, ready to fly up instead—

And found herself surrounded. _Fuck_.

She recognised some of her legionnaires, and Paimon’s[5] as well, fighting a small army of rebels, who were trying to… take over the Castle? Or something similarly foolish. She didn’t have much time to think about it, because a Hellion threw themself at her, blade in hand, and she had to eradicate them before that blade discorporated her, _again_.

And then another. And another.

She managed to get out of the lift and find Dagon. She was defending the entrance to the stairway, which would enable the rebels to take the higher floors, if they weren’t there already. Some of them _were_ Fallen and therefore had wings.

‘What the fuck’s happening?’ Beelzebub shouted her way. She promptly discorporated a demon on her way to attack them.

‘They waited until Lucifer left and then ambushed us, just like that!’ Dagon yelled back, stabbing a demon in the back and then turning them around to stab another one with the end sticking out of them. ‘Renegades, wanting to take over and—’ She ducked before someone cut her head off.

‘Lock us and Lucifer up when he comes back?’ Beelzebub hazarded a guess.

‘The parliament’s a splendid idea, actually,’ said a demon right as he charged onto her. ‘Got us thinking, why do we need a king at all when we can rule ours—’

Beelzebub grasped his own weapon and put an end to him.

‘If we seize the Castle, we can force him to abdicate! He wants that anyway! And then he can give it to us,’ said another. He caught an axe from one of Beelzebub’s soldiers between his eyes shortly after.

That was not a terrible plan, she had to admit, but it had one major fault: Lucifer would never let Hell collapse into such chaos. He’d sooner wage the war than let the long-established hierarchy fall to a bunch of anarchists; someone always had to control Hell, even the actual rulers such as herself. Preferably still Lucifer. A sibling he could rely on if keeping both the Throne and his freedom failed.

Also, was there _another_ rebelling group now? Some demons still wanted Lucifer to go and a new king to take the Throne. Some wanted him to stay being king but didn’t like the parliament. And apparently, some liked the parliament but not the king now. She’d almost call it hilarious if she wasn’t currently deflecting the latter rebels’ blows. Honestly.

One managed to scrape her arm with his sword. Dagon killed him after that, but the fact that someone even _got to her_ was no less true, the tear in her coat a sore reminder of that. Well, she’d really show them now!

She grabbed the hilt of her sword with both hands and summoned fire from deep within her. The blade ignited with Hellfire, potent orange heat that killed Hellions and discorporated the Fallen all around her when she waved it in the air.

Or so they thought.

No one would notice it in all the pandemonium, but sometimes the flames flickered blue, almost white at the edges, and those flames didn’t just _discorporate_. Those flames were Holy Fire, coming from the bit of Archangel in her[6].

Demons killing demons with heavenly weapons wasn’t done, no, but these rebels have really _pissed her off_. It’ll look as if they lost their body; they just won’t come back. No one will be any wiser in the end.

No one will know that she was holding probably the most powerful thing in existence right now, a sword that could annihilate demons as well as angels[7].

Despite all that, the demons wouldn’t stop surging at her and at her soldiers from all sides. There could be what, two thousand of them? Plenty to get her distracted enough to fail to deflect a blow aimed at her head. It _bled_.

‘I’m bringing him back,’ she bellowed at Dagon. She didn’t need to specify whom.

‘Can you leave me that?’ Dagon asked, beckoning to the sword.

Beelzebub threw it to her. As soon as it left her hand, the Holy Fire was consumed by Hellfire and became perfectly safe—well, safe-ish—for her to hold. She gave her a nod and teleported away with a thought, focusing on Gabriel’s location.

She popped out of the ground on a sandy beach, in the middle of the world’s most awkward family reunion. Eight pairs of eyes landed on her, along with Gabriel’s harsh ‘Demon!’ and less harsh _sweet Lord, Bee, are you alright? I felt it when you—the Holy Fire._

‘There was a revolt. They waited till Lucifer went up, must’ve had spies in the Castle or something,’ she said, trying to ignore the pain on the side of her head. She sent Gabriel a quick thought, too, _And no, I’m clearly fucking not, archangel, but that’s the least of my concerns right now._

* * *

1 She had a clock and an Earth calendar on the wall, but seeing as this was Hell and no one _really_ knew how these things worked, they were both undecided on the time zones and even months sometimes, depending on how mischievous they felt at any given time. The calendar correctly said that it was June, but the clock was currently at 3:46. Was it a.m.? Was it p.m.? Who knew or cared, certainly not Beelzebub.

The truth is, it was 2:46 p.m. in England, and the clock was visiting Budapest or wherever in the Central European Time Zone.[✿]

2 Which, of course, meant a _good day_ in demon-speak.[✿]

3 The trick to closing the door was to lift it up a bit, use a bit more force than one would normally expect to pull it towards you, and then twist the doorknob by approximately a hundred degrees. _Then_ it held.[✿]

4 This happened sometimes, because nothing in Hell worked properly for a longer period of time, but usually miracling it going again, or kicking it a few times if you were a Hellion, solved the problem.[✿]

5 She had 66 legions under her command, but Paimon, despite being lower in the infernal ranks than her, commanded 200 of them. It was good, then, that he was probably more devoted to Lucifer than any of them and firmly stood by his side. If a war actually happened, she knew that with his support as well as the other Princes’, Lucifer’s side would eventually win. Still, it would be an unpleasant business. And the _paperwork_ that would accumulate…[✿]

6 The longer she spent in the presence of Gabriel, the stronger the bond and the abilities that came with it became. It wasn’t easy, summoning Holy Fire in Hell, or anywhere, but with enough focus, she could hold it for a while. She’d discovered this particular trick sometime in the 19th century, as well as her immunity to it. And Holy Water. Pretty much _any_ blessed object, really. Naturally, no one in Hell knew, not even Dagon.[✿]

7 Crowley and his silly angel will have a lot to look forward to when they’re bonded too, she thought. She’d also rather not meet any of them when they truly find out just how powerful they can be.

Weapons like these, powered by both Hell and Heaven, were the only thing that could kill them, for one, usually leaving them to be killable by each other’s hand only. Angel-demon couples were rare—there could be maybe around a hundred of them at most, surviving since the Fall—but she’d bet that _that_ was why the whole fraternisation thing was forbidden in the first place. Too much power.[✿]


	26. Familiar Fights

If Crowley said he didn’t like the situation before, he was really starting to _hate it_ now.

Was he, Aziraphale, and the wedding a bloody _joke_ to everyone? Did they have no respect for boundaries?! Could they, for that matter, not deal with their disasters themselves? Why did they have to keep dragging _them_ into it? They’d been so eager to get rid of them before, and now they begged for help. Right.

Well, Crowley already expressed his stance on the matter, loud and clear.

He turned to Lucifer, standing on his right. ‘I’m s—’

‘Bloody hell, can’t a Devil leave Hell for even a few hours without shit hitting the fan? Honestly!’ Lucifer said before he could get his excuse out, this time affronted for real. He put his arms akimbo. There was something stressed about his eyes, too. ‘What happened, Beelzebub?’

Demons being demons, clearly, creatures of _chaos_ who were never satisfied with how things were. Rebelling was a part of their very nature. But if they hurt _Beelzebub_ … well, it must be serious this time.

‘Yes, do tell us,’ added Gabriel. His usual mocking tone sounded a bit strained. Crowley didn’t blame him. As much as he despised comparing himself to him, he’s been there before, with Aziraphale[1]. Gabriel pointed at Beelzebub’s head. ‘You’re bleeding.’

‘Thanks, I didn’t know,’ she said to him. She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe some of that blood off, but it only made things worse. She hissed in pain. ‘A bunch of power-thirsty demons ambushed the Castle. They want to take us down and take Hell for themselves, without a king. We responded immediately, but there’s more of them than we’d like. You need to get back and _act_.’

‘Well,’ Crowley said, jerking his head in thought. ‘Seems like you don’t really need me then; the Devil’s well capable of putting the fear of, well, himself into some rebels…’ Even if it was serious. He was the _Devil_ , Risen or not.

All eyes were on Crowley. The odd looks were starting to make him reconsider. Or maybe it was just that they didn’t get used to the idea of him being rather more than just your average tempter-demon, who knew. He still glanced at him. ‘Isn’t he?’

‘I am, yes, but at this rate?’ he scoffed. ‘Not for long. Tell me, Crowley, how would you feel about a parliamentary monarchy?’

He was baffled about the sudden change of subject, he wasn’t going to lie. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

Aziraphale, sensing this would take a while yet, thought the suspicious gift basket into teleporting inside the house, thinking it was oddly heavy for such a relatively small object. Dimension magic[2] was probably involved.

Gabriel cleared his throat. ‘It was, erm, my proposition. When Hell’s out of balance, soon we’ll follow, and…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s only in the interest of the Universe, mind. Rules of cosmic balance, et cetera, et cetera.’

No, he wasn’t worried about his infernal wife _at all_.

‘I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ said Michael, batting her eyelashes. Her golden makeup glistened in the sun. Her next words were for Lucifer. ‘Why don’t you pop down and do something about it, so we can return to our heavenly duties and worry about this no longer?’

‘You don’t care at all, do you, sister?’ Lucifer said. Accusatorily. ‘You only care about bureaucracy and good business, not the least bit about him whom you cast out. When have you _ever_ visited me, hmm? Oh, that’s right, _never_.’ He made an all-encompassing gesture around the Archangels, all but Amenadiel.

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

‘They’re all uppity wankers, we all know that,’ Beelzebub snorted. She crossed her arms impatiently. The wound on her head was still bleeding. It was a miracle she didn’t discorporate. ‘So? Loyal demons are dying, and soon the kingdom will be in total disarray; we’re wasting time here!’

‘Are you expecting _us_ to help you?’ Uriel sneered. ‘We only came here to talk some sense into the demon Crowley; he’s the obvious choice.’ They turned to him. ‘Aren’t you, _brother_. Really, it would solve everything, so much I can tell you. And I’m rarely wrong.’

Next to him, Lucifer put on a rather vicious grin. ‘Well, you didn’t see me _stabbing you_ coming, did you?’

‘Honestly, you!’ Aziraphale all but shouted. Crowley’s gaze dropped to him, an awed eyebrow going up. He was clutching and unclutching his fists. ‘The worlds might be at stake, and you’re still squabbling instead of—of trying to deal with this rationally. Crowley _might_ be the best choice, but no means no. You can’t push him to do something he doesn’t want to do. His _siblings_!’

Crowley has probably never wanted to kiss him more than he did right now.

‘You’re getting rather bold in your new station,’ said Uriel, condescending. That fear was slowly dissipating, which, it shouldn’t. Crowley knew he hadn’t been lying about the sigil and just what he might do with it.

‘Well,’ he said calmly. ‘I don’t know where this is coming from either, if you must know, but I _won’t_ let you treat him like a—like a—badly!’

‘What he said,’ Crowley nodded. He took his hand and laced their fingers together. A sort of a _spark_ ignited between those hands, he’d swear. He had an idea where it was coming from, that gift of facing one’s bosses, former or not, without showing an ounce of fear. He wasn’t _unafraid_ , mind, but he knew how to bury it inside and appear cool. It came from knowing that when it came down to it, there was nothing they could do to him.

He also thought about the family part of the whole deal—and he had to laugh. ‘Really, guys, Heaven and Hell? It’s all a _petty_ family fight[3] stretching over whole aeons because everyone’s too proud to back off and will rather just _keep on living_ in these outdated, bigoted ways instead of moving the fuck on and learning to live with each other.’

‘You blasphemed,’ Uriel snapped. ‘You rebelled against God and Goddess and Their Plan, Their love, Their—’

‘Maybe that was a part of Their Plan too,’ Azrael put in. They’ve been one of the quieter observers so far, always calm, always bearing an aura of chilly disinterest. They gave Crowley a weak smile. ‘Maybe everyone’s exactly where they need to be.’

He resisted shooting them a thumbs-up and letting out a mildly sarcastic _yayyy, someone understands, black star for you!_

He couldn’t resist mulling over that and engaging in yet another existential crisis in a separate, independent part of his brain that was pretty much going through at least one of those 24/7.

He said, ‘And if God really hated us, wanted us—gone, I dunno, would we be able to do _this_?’ He brought his and Aziraphale’s conjoined hands upwards. ‘Marry each other, angel and demon?’

Apart from the sounds of splashing water, and one disgruntled human about 30 feet off, complaining about the closed beach and the outrageous presence of the nine of them on it, there was silence.

‘Who wants cake?’ Aziraphale asked to break the uncomfortableness of it, morphing into his usual kind, cheerful self all at once. He _has_ been rather excited about the outcome of his baking experiment and couldn’t wait to taste it.

‘Have some more of that good scotch, do you?’ Lucifer inquired.

‘Excuse me,’ Beelzebub said. ‘This is all very touching and all, but we still have a problem.’

‘No, no, Aziraphale’s right. Let’s have cake and talk. Properly,’ Amenadiel said. In a more authoritative voice, he told her, ‘You go back, gather up your legions, and keep the rebels from taking the Castle.’

She set her jaw. ‘I don’t take orders from you anymore.’

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know? Telepathically, Crowley explained. _He ruled us after Lucifer left, but he was on Earth trying to bring him back more often than he was in Hell. Wasn’t much of a success. Angels ruling, it’s not a good idea._ He was met with a _hmm_.

He suspected Beelzebub felt the same, hence Trying To Convince Crowley Round Two.

‘Do as he says, Beelzebub,’ Lucifer ordered. ‘We won’t be long.’

‘Unless you’re too weak to fight, demon,’ said Gabriel. Crowley had to admit he wasn’t the worst actor, despite everything suggesting otherwise. He would also bet his wings on a wholly different conversation going on in _their_ heads.

She flashed him a bloody, toothy grin. ‘Oh no, I won’t discorporate this time. Won’t give you prick the pleasure.’

Crowley rolled his eyes at Gabriel’s face, which _suggested things_ to everyone who was observant enough, and took two steps forward. He put a finger on her forehead. A thought later, the wound was closed. ‘No need to thank me.’

She blinked. ‘How did you—’

‘I’ve never lost my powers; didn’t you know that?’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I owed you one, now we’re even. Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else about me in the future.’ He waggled his tongue at her, hissingly. It was forked for the occasion.

‘You’re not the King, so don’t start thinking you can act like one,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘Unless a bunch of demons _wanting_ you as King would change your mind?’

He frowned. His tongue reverted to normal. ‘A bunch of—what? _Why_?’

Why would anyone want him as King?

Beelzebub vanished, leaving behind only a whiff of demonic energy and not exactly a pleasant smell.

Lucifer sighed. ‘We call them the Cult of Crowley; that was another thing I wanted to talk to you about. They think you’re the second me, a challenger to the Throne, which as we know isn’t exactly wrong, but they—well, worship you, for the lack of a better word.’

Crowley let out a throaty noise. Aziraphale found his hand again and squeezed it in—support, probably. ‘It’s the execution, isn’t it? Az— _I_ shouldn’t’ve said that thing[4], about having a chance to find out what I—’

‘Speaking of the execution,’ said Michael, annoyingly sweetly as ever, ‘if you’re only bonded now, how did you do it? Are you… like Lucifer?’

‘Risen?’ he asked her. ‘Well, you saw that, didn’t you? My true form?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

Aziraphale cleared his throat and gestured for them to follow him to the cottage. Crowley sighed, because there was no avoiding having them all in the house, apparently, and snapped the sign prohibiting the locals from coming to the beach away. He walked ahead and then turned around, arms outstretched dramatically.

‘I’ve never been truly Fallen,’ he said, a manic smile on his lips. ‘I was never a complete, total, hundred-percent dark vicious demony demon. _Everyone_ knows that, despite my best efforts.’

All the pain and torture has never been his thing. Nor was tempting humans into truly vile deeds like murder and such. He was all for clever schemes, a little fun: a theft there, jumping into bed with that woman one fancied despite having a wife there, a spot of mass panic and spreading fake news before it was a thing somewhere else. He was never cruel. He only pretended to be, out of self-preservation, to gain enough of a reputation to would warrant a sort of freedom on Earth. That was all.

‘And becoming one in the first place was more _my_ doing than anyone else’s, if Luci and Amen’s theory is to be believed.’

‘ _The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven_ ,’ Aziraphale quoted. ‘ _Paradise Lost_. He was certainly onto something, Milton. If you take it literally.’

Crowley turned back around and finally stepped off the burning sand and onto soft grass[5]. He pressed his lips together and walked on to the garden entrance. Everyone filed inside in silence and looked around the living room, as awkwardly as only angels who have never even begun to imagine what an earthly habitat shared by an angel and a demon might look like could. Most of them, anyway.

‘And… Aziraphale?’ Azrael asked, turning to him. ‘You’re still an angel. We’ve been, err, wondering how you survived Hellfire. Did you…?’

Crowley took Aziraphale’s shoulder and led him into the kitchen. He bit his lip, not at all anxiously. ‘Should we… tell them?’

* * *

1 Mostly because of the need to evade suspicion should he be caught on surveillance, which Gabriel was the one monitoring, usually, but, well. Best not to mention that.[✿]

2 Well, not exactly magic, more like _craftsmanship_. Magic was a human term, too trivial, just a name for science they didn’t understand. But yes, it did mean _bigger on the inside_.[✿]

3 Or, alternatively: a family firm getting into a big fight, which ended up with the CEO kicking out his most prominent son, together with the disinterested brother who was always asking all sorts of questions and being the only sensible one in the bunch, and said kicked-out children taking half the employees to set up their own firm nearby, offering a different design of the same product and forever competing with their home corporation over who was better.[✿]

4 They told each other what had gone down during their respective executions to the detail, should the need to talk about it arise. He almost fucked it up now though. _Almost_.[✿]

5 It was probably the greenest, softest, freshest grass in all of England, what with the dry heat that was going on—simply because it grew near Crowley’s house and knew very well what would happen to it if it dared go dry.[✿]


	27. Heed Your Own Advice

Telling them before would’ve been unthinkable. But now? What _could_ they do to them? They hadn’t known about the sibling situation before. And bloody hell, Azrael must’ve known already; their conspiratorially raised eyebrow suggested as much.

Aziraphale headed for the fridge to give himself a second to let the idea sink in. He took the cake, which was a two-tier black-and-white thing that had no business fitting in without being cut off but still did, and laid it onto the counter. He harrumphed and turned to Crowley, a knife suddenly in hand. ‘I—well, I suppose there’s no harm in it now, is there?’

Crowley would be taken aback by that if he wasn’t already thinking it too. Still, he asked if he was sure. And steered clear of the knife. It was a reflex.

Aziraphale nodded and sent a mental _yes_. He placed the knife on a tray and added a stack of plates. Six of them. He already knew full well that Uriel and Gabriel would refuse any sort of food, let alone food _he_ made. Crowley went for the scotch, hidden in a cupboard.

‘Okay.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Well, when you set the cake down, grab my hand again. We’ll show them a little show.’

As soon as the sugary treat none of them deserved to so much as taste was on the table, they did exactly that. One second, Crowley stood on the left and Aziraphale on the right, and the next they switched positions—or seemed to do, because really, they switched the atoms that made up their bodies what they were. It was easier, somehow, with the bond.

Crowley spoke through Aziraphale’s lips, ‘Truth is, we didn’t know any of that before. We just switched bodies.’

‘Simple as that,’ Aziraphale said in Crowley’s body. He added a little chuckle that Crowley would _never_ have let out of his mouth. ‘Rearranging atoms.’

They switched back, easily as anything. The others were gaping. Well, Azrael was amused, if the gleam in their eyes and the smile playing on their lips were any proof. Of course they knew, being everywhere and seeing everything. Time didn’t stop for Death, not even when Crowley did it.

Crowley made sure to take each and every one of them in and said, ‘If you mention it to anyone outside this cottage, even Beelzebub, there will be consequences.’

He _really_ enjoyed seeing their expressions.

‘You weren’t really that powerful at all!’ Michael cried, showing a sign of emotion for the first time all day. She pursed her lips at them, and at the cake[1]. ‘You foo—’

‘Fooled even me,’ Uriel butted in. They shook their head in disbelief and scorned at the innocent cake in the same manner as their older sister. ‘Two-nil for the Fallen.’

‘I have to say, that’s very impressive,’ Lucifer noted. He waved a finger at the two of them. ‘And so’s the Freaky Friday act here. Wouldn’t have thought of it myself.’

Neither would the two of them had it not been for Agnes and her last prophecy, but they weren’t going to let them in on _that_ one.

‘You are that powerful _now_ , though,’ Gabriel said, grimacing. ‘Pitifully.’

He sat down, however, and was the first to do so. At the head of the table, too, because where else? Crowley scoffed at that and dropped into the nearest chair. It was, coincidentally, at the foot. Only now he noticed the table’s impulsive ability to seat eight people—well, people-shaped beings—as opposed to its usual four chairs. He wondered who did the miracle.

Aziraphale laid out the plates and beckoned for the others to sit down as well, though without much of that earlier enthusiasm. ‘We… are?’ he asked carefully.

‘Obviously?’ Gabriel said. ‘What did you think would happen when you gave each other a part of your soul, an Archdemon and a former Cherub no less? You can’t really be killed for one, have complete immunity, can use both angelic and demonic powers…’ He trailed off.

Crowley considered this. He shared a look with Aziraphale. _That’s handy_ , he said. _Guess you are immune to Hellfire now, angel._

_And you could probably bless tap water and make it holy yourself…_

‘Why don’t I get a plate?’ Gabriel added, offended.

‘Oh, please, Gabriel, didn’t you once say—what were the exact words? That you won’t sully the temple of your celestial body with gross matter?’ Aziraphale said, raising an eyebrow. He cut into the cake without the usual ceremony of human weddings.

Crowley was still somewhat bitter about the lack of a kiss, however.

 _Later_ , Aziraphale said. _When they’re gone._ Crowley took his word for it.

‘I want an extra-large one if you can,’ Lucifer said, pointing at the cake. He was sitting on Crowley’s left[2]. ‘I haven’t eaten anything since my last visit here.’

‘You visited?’ Michael asked. ‘When?’

‘About a month ago, I think. When I first tried to convince Crowley to help me out.’ Aziraphale handed him his piece of cake, rather large indeed. ‘Thank you! Now _that’s_ called angelic hospitality. You should learn, siblings.’

‘We’re already not smiting you out of here,’ said Michael. ‘If I could only the white part, Aziraphale? I’m not overly fond of chocolate.’

Gabriel grimaced at her wanting to have _any_ part of it at all. Crowley knew she was doing it to get in his good graces again _too_ , now that she knew the new lie of the land.

‘Oh? Is that a metaphor for something?’ Lucifer mocked her. He dug in and literally shoved two forks’ worth into his mouth at once. With his mouth full, he added something that was probably supposed to be, ‘Refusing the demonic part of this _delicious_ cake?’

Aziraphale thanked him for praising his cake as if he never intended to murder him with a book, and passed Michael her pristinely white piece.

‘No. Sometimes an aversion to chocolate is just that,’ she said. It sounded too much like a threat.

‘What _is_ the point of this?’ Gabriel said. He propped his elbows on the table. ‘Having cake with—them? With _Lucifer_? Has everyone actually gone insane?’ He cast a judgemental glance at Michael. ‘I thought better of you, Michael, and here you are, eating _food_.’

‘ _They_ are still here,’ Crowley singsonged. ‘It’s their house… You sat down first…’

He shot him a dirty look. Crowley was tempted to point out _why_ exactly he must know the exact scope of one’s powers when bonded to a demon, but all this snitching on one another pretty much started this mess, so he accepted his cake and kept his mouth shut beyond that.

‘Well, then let’s get to the point, shall we?’ Lucifer offered before she could say anything. Thankfully, he’s finished chewing. ‘No point in staving off the inevitable. _You_ wanted to talk, after all.’

‘Tell us more about the current situation,’ said Amenadiel, the only one who actually did want that. Crowley was fairly certain his authority was the singular thing that kept the Holy Trinity[3] from lashing out at _someone_. Plus that thing he’d let slip earlier, about getting along and moving on. Maybe.

‘And thank you for the cake, Aziraphale. I imagine this isn’t easy for you.’

‘Well.’ He smiled thinly, nervously. He cast a narrow glance at the rest of the table. ‘Can’t exactly throw you out. As long as no one is fighting.’ He sat down on Crowley’s right and focused on his culinary creation instead. Crowley thought this was as good a moment as any to try some of it too[4].

It was good, as far as his standards went, but he wasn’t the best judge of taste. Coconut and chocolate always went together, though. Aziraphale was already chiding him for his use of adjectives in his head, and moaning about the harmony and utter deliciousness of it, and Crowley—who didn’t mind listening to him talking about food, don’t get him wrong, but this was neither the time nor the place to really think about that and the frankly indecent sounds he made sometimes—tuned it out, with a bit of effort.

‘There are three factions of rebels as far as I know, plus the cult,’ Lucifer began. He impaled a piece of angel’s food and decided that gesturing with it was the thing to do. ‘I can’t very well hold Hell on my own without enforcing the strict rules of the very first days, which would entail me staying there and not leaving for a _while_. And when I say _while_ , I mean a couple decades at least. I suggested we form a sort of a parliament, right, with Beelzebub as the real power and demons deciding their own business. Reliable demons of all ranks and factions. I’d be coming to meetings, overseeing it, blah blah blah, all the while living on Earth. Some like that, some don’t.’ He ate the piece.

Crowley thought of something he’d told him the first time around. He pointed his fork, cake-free, at him. ‘Remember when I criticised your need for power and sticking to the old ways of blindly following one person of authority?’

This would be a step forward, for sure. Demons didn’t _like_ change though—unless they suddenly liked it too much.

Lucifer gave him the sort of dazzling smile that may as well accuse you of murdering his favourite Hellhound. ‘I do, actually.’

‘Then you know how I feel about a parliamentary monarchy. The question is—’

‘You call yourself the Devil, an equal to God, and yet you can’t even manage your own subjects,’ Michael put in. She casually ate a small piece of Aziraphale’s cake, all the while holding eye contact.

‘Now, I never said I was equal to God.’ Lucifer leant forward, face suddenly stone-cold. ‘I challenged Him, yes, but _humans_ started spreading all that rubbish. It wasn’t about that, which you _know_ , sister.’

‘She’s right though…’ Gabriel said. He absently pointed a thumb in her direction.

‘I’ve—changed, all right, I’m saving mass murder as my last option!’ Lucifer blew up. He tossed his fork on the plate. Its angry clatter made Aziraphale flinch. ‘Honestly, what do you all think of me? Yes, I can sit there, I can yell at them, show them my wings and bring about terror and more leaky pipes, but that won’t _change_ anything unless they accept that I won’t be staying permanently, _ever_. My rule has always been reluctant, in case you still can’t get that into your brains.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘Only forced on me by—by _Him_ , for crying out loud. That’s why I left. Didn’t want to be a pawn in the Plan anymore.’

There was a desperate look in his eyes when he directed his gaze on Crowley. ‘We could’ve shared it from the beginning. Maybe all wouldn’t’ve been so terrible.’

Silence, once more, swallowed their voices. Crowley swallowed the chocolate mouthful he’s been chewing, a tad bitter all of a sudden. He’s never… told him that _that_ was why he’d asked at the beginning, that he might’ve not wanted it himself either.

Under the table, Aziraphale put a hand on his knee. Above it, he felt a wing touch his own. He cleared his throat. ‘And I should? Stay there? Or one of us? How do you think _we_ feel?’ he asked. The others said nothing, did nothing.

‘I get that, I do,’ Lucifer said. He pushed the fork about. ‘But you could help me convince them.’

‘And you propose I do that _how_ , hmm?’ He pressed his lips together and scratched his chin, idly. ‘I told you, I don’t want them knowing who I am.’

On the other side of the table, Gabriel scoffed and muttered something like _ah, here we fucking go._

‘They already know you’re powerful,’ Lucifer tried again. ‘And if you publicly support my ideas, my system, your cult will listen to you, the rebels will know that I have a dangerous Archdemon on my side, and those who hate you will _much_ prefer to have me as King rather than _you_. It’s been so long identities hardly matter.’

Crowley chose not to comment on that. ‘Didn’t you say they’d take _anyone_ as long as someone’s there and that someone’s not you? You did, it was a month ago, you ate all those crumpets—’

‘Well, some of them perhaps—demons I mean, not crumpets—but if you were to become a _member_ of the infernal parliament…’

An eyebrow went up. He couldn’t believe the audacity. Another thing came to mind, though. ‘ _The Dark Council_?’

‘That’s not a bad idea for a name, actually!’ Lucifer picked up the fork and cut himself more cake, as if he knew he was gaining the higher ground and had a reason to be cheerful again, or what. Crowley, who has already done a fair share of blinking recently, blinked.

‘It’s an inside joke. With myself. Never mind. Why?’

Lucifer chuckled. ‘Didn’t you always want to improve Hell and its outdated ways? You said so five minutes ago.’

‘I did, yes. Not as a—minister, MP, whatever. In the shadows.’ He’s spent centuries trying to reform the ways of temptation and decades trying to make Hell use telephones and computers. It never worked, and if it did, they misunderstood[5], and it all backfired on him. They never listened to him. A seat in the infernal parliament, which he didn’t want because that would mean being back on the clock, would hardly change that.

 _If_ he agreed. Which he very much didn’t want to.

Although… it was becoming tempting.

Just a little.

Having a say in the matters of Hell, you know. For real. Maybe making sure angel-demon relationships were no longer forbidden.

‘It’s clearly the most logical approach,’ said Uriel. ‘Hell belongs to demons, which is very much what you still are, _Crowley_. There’s an 84% chance of success if you return within the next half-hour—or are you too _cowardly_ again? Like you were during the War?’

Azrael turned to them. ‘Uri…’

Yeah. Unfair, bringing _that_ up.

‘You’re Raphael! You’re not _meant_ for the shadows,’ Amenadiel argued. They were really going to throw that one into his face all the time now, were they?

Crowley let out a sigh and rubbed at his eyes.

‘Prevent a war then, brother,’ said Lucifer. Crowley looked up. ‘You’d have done anything to stop it before—and this is the same situation! Almost, anyway, but that’s just semantics.’ He brushed it off with a wave of his hand. ‘Those demons _will_ try and take over Earth if they win, in which case the angels will no doubt interfere…’

‘I hate to agree with Lucifer, but that’s precisely what I’m doing,’ said Michael. She scraped the final smudges of cream from her plate. She was the only one who actually finished her cake, the others being too stunned and/or invested to do so. Even Aziraphale.

‘He’s not… wrong, Crowley,’ Aziraphale said, still brushing his wing along his. ‘We fought to save the Earth before, and—oh, I hate to say this, you know how I feel about them forcing you, but he’s not wrong. And now that we know you can’t be killed by regular weapons…’

‘If Gabriel is to be believed,’ Crowley said, glaring at him. Mostly because he didn’t want to be glaring at Aziraphale right now.

Because he, and Lucifer, and everyone else was bloody _right_ indeed.

‘I am, yes,’ he replied. ‘I’m an Archangel.’

Crowley groaned. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Can’t I be selfish for once?! Can’t I have this life, some satanblessed _peace_? Why does everyone always want to _drag me_ into everything important, I’m not the person you think I am, really, I lied in all my reports…’

‘You did. Because you were never one for cruelty, brother, you’ve always _helped_ people between petty chaos and mischief,’ said Lucifer. His tone suggested that he’s known about that this entire time, which was a whole other thing to unpack.

‘Yeah, no, I— _fuck_.’ He did glare at Aziraphale this time. ‘When did you start taking _their_ side?’

He withdrew the hand on his knee. He wrung his hands and let his eyes jump from one being to another, guiltily. ‘Crowley…’

 _I’ll go with you if you want, my darling_ , said his voice in Crowley’s head, _but it does seem like we don’t have many other options. I’m not… taking their side, dragging you to Hell is the last thing I want, but… none of them will do it, as much is clear. Bloody—Archangels!_

_Go with me? No, you can’t, angel, I won’t let you. Not again._

_Well, it’s your choice. If you say no, I’ll smite them all. They’ll have to find another solution. But Crowley… time seems to be of the essence, and…_

Yeah. Yeah, it was. Crowley could pause time, and if the others joined in, they might even get themselves a whole day, but the Universe didn’t like this sort of interference.

And if he really thought about it, why _did_ he insist on being so stubborn even after millions of years?

 _Gabriel_ was a hypocrite. Crowley didn’t want to be; he should bloody well heed his own advice about moving on.

‘I’m going to have to do it, aren’t I,’ he said, jaw clenched. ‘Well. I’ve got one condition, though.’

* * *

1 It sported black and white wing decorations in addition to its very obvious dual cream, and two interwoven snakes on top, also black and white. Rather on the nose. Dark chocolate and vanilla-coconut was the flavour, less obviously, but the base _was_ angel’s food and devil’s food in disguise.[✿]

2 The precise seating order was following: Crowley at the foot, with Lucifer and Aziraphale—theoretically, since he hasn’t sat down yet—on his sides. Next to Lucifer sat Amenadiel and Michael, and next to Aziraphale were Azrael and Uriel. Gabriel was obviously still at the head.[✿]

3 Crowley liked to call them that sometimes, Gabriel and Michael and Uriel. Aziraphale pretended to scorn at him, but he’s always secretly agreed.[✿]

4 He got a lick of the cream and a bit of chocolate icing, despite Aziraphale’s best efforts, but that was in the stage of preparation. He was strictly forbidden from getting his fangs on the final product.[✿]

5 See: possessing people in radios and televisions.[✿]


	28. Special Powers

Truth be told, that was as far as Crowley got with his plan. He cut a piece of angel’s food and stuffed it in his mouth to give himself a bit of time to actually come up with something. Or rather a way to get it out in an at least partially coherent manner—but if anything, he’s always been good at improvisation.

‘Of course,’ Lucifer nodded. ‘Go on.’

Feeling several pairs of eyes staring at him, he swallowed the mouthful and took a deep breath. He ordered his thoughts. ‘Okay. A, you’ll sign and seal a royal decree that’ll precisely state the extent of my involvement in any sort of Hell business. I’ll specify later. B, everyone at this table _will_ apologise. C—’

‘Now, hang on, hang on,’ Gabriel butted in, pointing a finger at him rather rudely. It wasn’t _that_ finger though, at least. ‘You said _one_ condition.’

‘Never did I say that it couldn’t have points,’ Crowley pointed out. He shot him a pair of finger guns, just to see him squirm. ‘Has anyone got any objections? No?’ Given the silence, he was guessing they didn’t. He took a calculated risk here, and as it often did, it paid off. ‘Great. C, everyone at this table will give my husband[1] and me a moment alone before I go. D, since I’m stepping the fuck up, everyone at this table can try too, starting with being civil to each other.’ He nodded at Amenadiel. ‘And finally, E, as related to the last point: Gabriel can start by being honest about his _relationship_.’

He popped the P, for dramatic effect. Because what the hell, seven out of eight already knew; what further damage could it do? It was only fair they were on the same page between themselves. Since he was apparently meddling in their business now and all.

‘Actually, yes, I agree,’ Michael said. ‘Gabriel?’

‘No need, we all know anyway,’ Lucifer scoffed. ‘From multiple sources.’

‘No, we don’t,’ Uriel said. ‘What… relationship?’

Lucifer raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘You don’t know? Really, the master strategist and pattern—’

‘To give Uri some credit,’ Amenadiel said, ‘neither I nor _you_ wouldn’t know if it weren’t for Crowley.’

That was probably supposed to make them feel better and assure them that they weren’t the only stupid one here, but it sounded a bit too much like pointing fingers. Not… wrongfully though. Eh.

‘I,’ Gabriel threatened, literally pointing fingers, _again_ , ‘am going to kill you, Crowley, and this time you’ll _stay_ dead because you’re so _lucky_ that I’m the only one in here who can do it.’

Aziraphale cleared his throat, glaring at him. Gabriel didn’t look terrified, but he bloody well should be. Crowley quietly snapped his fingers under the table, and his updated, very expensive stereo system turned on. It played a passage from Vivaldi’s _Innuendo_ [2], transported from the Bentley into the living room and not yet de-Queened. He absolutely knew about this.

Uriel looked between him and Crowley. Once, twice. Their eyes settled on Gabriel. ‘You and Beelzebub never broke up,’ they stated, surprisingly accurately. Well, maybe not _that_ surprisingly. ‘You lied to me, to our siblings, and to the whole department. Your Earth visits weren’t just to jog and clear your head, were they? How _disgusting_.’

There was a brief silence. The fact that the others, in fact, knew didn’t help it.

‘And everyone else knew about it. Of course you did. I really thought better of you, _siblings_.’

‘I didn’t lie,’ said Gabriel. ‘I just withheld some part of the truth.’ Next to Crowley, Lucifer suspended a forkful of cake mid-air. He looked like someone hit by a train of their own making[3]. ‘And she _can_ be disgusting sometimes, yes, but if you speak that way about her again, Lucifer won’t be the only sibling who’ll have stabbed and discorporated you by another sibling’s weapon.’ He put on a toothy grin. ‘Clear?’

Uriel answered by popping right back to Heaven.

Lucifer put the fork down and brought the palms of his hands together with a clap. ‘Well, that’s one fewer problem!’ He reached for the yet-untouched bottle of scotch and poured himself glass that wasn’t on the table a second ago[4]. ‘I accept your conditions,’ he told Crowley. ‘Though I fear point D stands for Dead End.’

Crowley nodded. But… there was one more thing, actually. ‘Can I amend?’

‘That depends.’

‘F—and this one’s a fitting point—the Archangel Fucking Gabriel will tell us more about these…’

‘Special powers,’ Aziraphale supplied, helpfully.

Gabriel puffed up. ‘After what you just did—’

‘I mean, we could probably figure it out by ourselves, but you wouldn’t want the only one who can kill _you_ in return to be against you, would you?’ Crowley said, through a sly smile. ‘You know we’re a bit clumsy sometimes, things could happen while testing it out…’

It wasn’t even a lie. Things probably _could_ happen. But if Crowley was to face a bunch of rioting demons, he needed a bit of insurance, and he’d get it either way. Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed with both of those points.

‘Fine, fine!’ Gabriel threw his hands up. ‘But I’m warning you, you _just_ got bonded, it’s unstable. You need centuries to learn more than seeing wings and telepathic communication.’

‘Eh, I’m good at working with the impossible.’ He slammed his hands on the table. ‘Great. Gabe and Luci can stay, the rest of you—out.’

‘You can finish the cake first, of course, and _then_ politely extract yourselves from this house,’ Aziraphale said. He cast a brief smile at Amenadiel. ‘Erm. Apologies for that. You’re welcome to stop by anytime, Amenadiel; you’ve done so much for us today, despite… everything. _Thank you_.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, ‘and no offence taken, I know what he can be like. I’ll get out of your feathers.’

Crowley shot him a sour look, for acting as if they’ve been mates or something and haven’t just talked for the second time in a few million years. He was also grateful.

The next ten or so minutes went by somewhat uncomfortably. Lucifer downed two glasses of scotch and insisted on making lewd remarks about the “special powers”, which Crowley half-wished never to hear and half-was _really_ interested in. The others just didn’t wish to have to hear them. Azrael then confessed that they did indeed know about the corporation-swap trick—and it only went further downhill from there, because Gabriel had to start arguing, _again_.

O, what had happened to the close sibling Crowley had known him to be once upon a time[5]?

Soon enough, Michael, Amenadiel, and Azrael left, and it was time to get down to business. The second-most unpleasant of businesses, right after the process of actually _going_ to Hell and doing whatever it was Lucifer wanted him to do.

‘So.’ He propped his head in the palm of his hand and gazed at Gabriel expectantly. ‘You mentioned using both angelic and demonic powers. What exactly does that entail?’

‘You can summon both Hellfire and Holy Fire, for one,’ Gabriel answered. ‘In theory. I doubt that you’ll actually be able to _do it_ , but I’ll give you this one for free. Do you…’ He pointed between Aziraphale and him. ‘Feel the unfamiliar energy? You gotta focus on that. Then you summon Hellfire, but from… _that_ part? If it makes sense? You draw on the ethereal bit in you, deep inside, and with a calm enough mind, you should be able to produce a mix of orange and blue flames that kill demons and angels alike.’

He sat really still for a while. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Like this.’

A tiny blue flame engulfed his thumb. It was bloody _orange_ on top though. Crowley, _again_ , blinked in disbelief and cast a glance at Aziraphale to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. His expression betrayed the exact same thoughts on his mind, as did his mind itself.

‘I’ve got to admit, that’s impressive,’ said Lucifer. He looked as if the words left a bitter taste.

When Gabriel pointed it at their end of the table, Crowley’s eyes widened. Oh, _fuck_.

‘Tell anyone about this and there _will_ be consequences,’ he said. Even Lucifer stared at it in terrified respect.

‘You’ll kill us. Message received,’ said Aziraphale, chuckling uncomfortably.

Gabriel blew the flame out. ‘I wonder, if you claim to be more angel than demon, can you still summon your staff? Or is that lost together with your spine?’

‘May I remind you,’ Crowley said, ‘that I’ve survived _so much more_ than you can even begin to imagine. I survived Hell and came out of it relatively sane. I did what I did _to_ survive.’

An unpleasant reminder of the nightmare he’d had earlier flashed before his eyes. From the beginning, it’s been about surviving in a hostile country that literally changed beneath one’s feet sometimes. The wings, the snake form, the earth position, the refusal of power of any kind and sticking to the shadows. And Gabriel should know; Beelzebub went through the same. She enjoyed the power and jumped at the first opportunity to claim it, but that didn’t make her living conditions any different. So why did he have to keep— _saying things like that_?

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a look so cold blue it could freeze the alcohol. ‘Snakes have spines, you know. It’s sanctimonious, self-obsessed Archangels who don’t.’

‘Oh, _nice_ ,’ said Lucifer. He clapped slowly, laughing. ‘He’s absolutely right, brother, all the magic aside. Why _do_ you have to be such a dick?’

Crowley snorted. Right on point!

‘I’m just asking rational questions here!’

‘You wouldn’t have to _be a dick about them though_. I’m honestly wondering why Beelzebub puts up with you.’ He shook his head. ‘Also, no, I haven’t tried to summon it. What d’you think?’ He didn’t even think of that, to be honest. Nevertheless, it wasn’t an entirely useless remark, contrary to most of what Gabriel tended to say. Would he? Still be able to use it? ‘But thanks for the tip. If that’s all, you can join the rest of the band now. Bye-bye!’

He turned to Lucifer. ‘And we’ll take that moment alone now.’

He reached out and patted Crowley’s shoulder. ‘I’m not even here.’

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ decided Aziraphale. He got up. ‘If Beelzebub wants some cake, you can take her a piece to-go,’ he told Gabriel, with courtesy he didn’t deserve. ‘For the trouble.’

There was still more than a half of it left, though, and Beelzebub did enjoy sweets despite always claiming not to in front of most demons. Aziraphale would have some trouble finishing it by himself, despite being who he was, because let’s face it: he went _overboard_ [6].

Crowley jumped up; the chair slid a good three feet backwards. He took Aziraphale by the shoulders and steered him towards the staircase, not looking back. It wasn’t exactly a stairway to Heaven, but it was currently a stairway _away from Hell_ , so that surely counted as something.

Although, oddly enough, he wasn’t scared in the slightest. He’d survived. He’d got out. He’d won. He’d beat the game, and now he could control it.

As soon as the door to the bedroom closed behind them, Crowley took Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him, desperately, like a husband who’s been denied the first marital kiss by his own siblings who demanded he drop everything and go to Hell.

He closed his eyes and put everything into the kiss. He slowly pushed Aziraphale against the door and just held him for a while, not breaking the kiss. But it was nothing like the times they’ve kissed before. A more immediate, hyper-aware connection spun from their beings, binding them more closely together. There were _wings_ , and _thoughts_ , and _energies_ that went way beyond the physical bodies. It was—well, bloody intense.

_Do you—_

_Bloody incredible, I could keep doing this for hours—_

_I can **feel** you. Oh, this is more than I imagined, really, and, and, imagine the sex—_

_Angel, you’ll be the death of me._

_Well, hopefully not—_

Crowley broke the kiss. He tucked his forehead against Aziraphale’s and felt his wings folded around himself without them being materially there. Oh, they had _lots_ to explore when he comes back. But Heavens, when would that _be_?

He bounced on his feet and walked to the window and back, arms akimbo. ‘They couldn’t wait a bloody _day_?! This—really isn’t how I imagined today would go. Hoped it wouldn’t.’

‘Well. I didn’t picture it going quite like this either,’ said Aziraphale. He clasped his hands on his belly, without the atrocious waistcoat for once. ‘I do hate you having to go back.’

Crowley ran his hands across his face and dropped on the bed. The mattress bounced beneath him. ‘I kinda knew though, angel. That it would…’ Come down to this anyway, he thought but didn’t say it.

‘Oh, my _dear_.’ _I can hear that; in case you’ve forgotten. We’ve yet to learn how to turn it off._

‘No, ngh, I’ve—been fighting this for too long, I. You don’t know half of it. You found out a month ago! I let even _you_ think that I was some unimportant pawn in Hell’s schemes who loved his job and was _loved_ down there, always putting on a cheeky grin—you, my _best friend_.’

‘Don’t blame yourself for that! You were just protecting yourself.’ Aziraphale crossed the distance between the door and the bed and sat down next to him. ‘This entire time, you were protecting yourself. There’s nothing shameful about that. You were—better off, like this.’ He put a hand on his leg. He leant in and said, in a low, almost conspiratorial voice. ‘If you’d been the King of Hell, we’d never have met! Imagine that!’

Yeah, that would be a _miserable_ life. Aziraphale was what made it interesting after the dull centuries of living in Hell. An existence without him? No thanks.

‘I don’t _regret_ anything, pff. Just… I fooled even myself, you know. Took _Lucifer_ showing up to remind me of the stuff I locked in a box in my brain, the key to which I threw into a—a volcano or somewhere.’ There was certainly a lot of volcanoes in Hell, as one might expect. Perhaps they were there only because most entities expected that they would be.

Perhaps Hell was dark and grimy because it was a _prison_ , why would it be _nice_? Why would God send the castaway children somewhere _nice_? No one imagined that, so it most certainly _wasn’t_ nice. It was the opposite of Heaven, because that was what they were supposed to be, weren’t they? Different. Outcasts. But… was Hell only so terrible because the collective minds of six million angels made it so?

Well, that was certainly a debate to have later. He digressed here. Aziraphale certainly looked shocked enough, if his wide eyes and raised eyebrows were any proof. And the wave of question marks he was somehow radiating.

‘They want an Archangel? Fine, I’ll give them one,’ he said. ‘I’ll show them all what they asked for. No point in hiding _now_. It’s time to face the music.’

‘Are you absolutely sure? There’s no going back,’ Aziraphale said, having come to the same conclusion where existential crises were concerned.

‘Yeah. And I need to accept that it’s not just them who need to move on, it’s me, too. And anyway, the most important thing’s you and me, angel, and I’ll fight for that. I’ll fight to stop a war that might just put us in danger anyway if allowed to get too far.’

As much as sitting in a stone chair could be called fighting, anyway. He imagined he wouldn’t actually have to do any of that.

He lifted a hand, palm up. ‘Give me your hand.’

He did. Crowley took a deep breath. Summoning Hellfire was a child’s play for him; that was easy. But he focused on the angelic presence he could constantly feel now, embracing it, and tried to pull the energy from there like Gabriel had said. The fire flickered and turned blue, all at once.

Take _that_ , Gabriel.

But to be honest, Crowley _was_ a bit startled here.

Aziraphale’s eyes followed the flames. _I felt that,_ he said, _when you summoned it_.

‘Hmm,’ Crowley said, for the lack of anything better to say. He snuffed it out.

‘Gabriel said it takes centuries to master it on that level,’ Aziraphale noted.

‘Six thousand years enough?’ Crowley grinned.

‘Let’s be honest, we saw each other maybe thrice in the first two thousand,’ Aziraphale said, scrunching up his nose like he did when he was thinking sometimes. ‘It can hardly count.’

‘Four thousand’s still more than what they’ve got. Trust me, he knows shit about us.’ Crowley licked his lips. ‘Come here, kiss me again.’

He did. Crowley _might’ve_ just used a bit of a time miracle to enclose them in a bubble where the time went by more slowly than anywhere else.

‘Well, I’ve gotta go,’ he said a few minutes later, his voice raw. He got up and sauntered to the door. He paused in the doorway and turned back to Aziraphale, who was still glued to the bed. ‘Maybe Azrael’s right, and we really are where we’re supposed to be.’

He walked down the stairs and found Lucifer, still moping in his seat at the now-regularly-sized table. ‘Let’s bloody go then.’

* * *

1 Oh, he did enjoy saying that.[✿]

2 … _You can be anything you want to be  
Just turn yourself into anything you think that you could ever be_  
_Be free with your tempo, be free, be free_  
_Surrender your ego, be free, be free to yourself…_ [✿]

3 Crowley would know, because Crowley found himself falling into his own traps embarrassingly often when he forgot that he, too, was a Londoner much like the nine million humans he was setting them for.

This wasn’t the case of Lucifer, who’s just heard something that _he_ often said come out of _Gabriel’s_ mouth, but the expression was still much the same.[✿]

4 Lucifer didn’t use miracles often. He didn’t use them at all, really. He believed in doing things the proper way, without the help of remnants of God’s magic. It wasn’t him; it was the _household_ , already soaked through with them and used to accommodating everyone’s sudden needs.[✿]

5 The War. And bureaucracy. And time itself.[✿]

6 Crowley told him as much. _Really, Aziraphale, a two-tier cake? Who’s going to eat that? You know I won’t have more than two slices; I’m not so keen on sweets…_ But did he listen? No. Once he got into it, he couldn’t stop.[✿]


	29. To Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's after midnight (as it usually is...), which means that I'm posting this on my birthday :) Can't celebrate it properly this year, y'know, in a pub or somewhere with my friends, but I've got home-made cake and writing, and that's nice too. So have a slightly longer chapter ~~that I'd post anyway~~ as a treat :)

Lucifer and Crowley came down from the sky and alighted on top of the stairway leading to the Castle’s gates.

Lucifer had given Crowley a bit of a more thorough briefing on the way there, so this dramatic entrance was entirely prepared for once, and much needed to get everyone’s attention. Everywhere around them, there was—well, it was _hell._ There was such a pandemonium that one might think they were in Pandæmonium and not in Dis.

Step One: get their attention and get them to stop fighting.

‘Everyone, _quiet_!’ he shouted. It had little to no effect whatsoever.

Lucifer puffed up his wings and shouted from the top of his lungs, ‘He _said_ , be _quiet_!’

Well, that worked. Most demons momentarily stopped throwing swords and punches around and turned their attention to the castle if they weren’t already trying to fight their way inside. Crowley sent a quick _thanks_ to Lucifer and cleared his throat.

Step Two: get them to listen.

‘What’s the traitor doing here?!’ yelled a demon nearby, and others quickly joined him before Crowley could say anything. ‘I thought Lucifer and that mongrel Crowley hated each other,’ said another, and, ‘Traitor!’ and ‘Fuck, if he’s come to fight us…’ and ‘Master Crowley has come to save us!’

That would probably be the cult Lucifer had mentioned. He had to ask about that too at some point.

All in all, he was getting a lot of mixed signals.

The fireball thrown at him was a rather more straightforward though, and so were the words, ‘Great, now that you’re here, we can take you both and take the kingdom for ourselves!’

He didn’t let it hit him. It landed and hissed out of existence on the ground nearby. Demons resumed fighting as if on cue, and a whole lot of them surged towards the stairs.

‘Looks like we’re going to have to do this the hard way,’ Lucifer noted, watching sparks float in the sulphurous air.

‘Yep,’ Crowley said. There wasn’t exactly time for meditation in these conditions, so he just took a deep breath. _Hope you’re with me, Aziraphale. Hope this works just as it did in our bedroom_. He set his palms on Hellfire and then imagined, just imagined, all the way from the inside, that fire purging itself and turning Holy.

The demons came to an abrupt halt.

‘See if you dare come any closer than, eh?’ he warned, playing with the shape and intensity of the blue flames like it was nothing. He got an idea and turned to Lucifer. ‘Gimme your hand.’

‘What?’ he hissed back. Crowley raised an eyebrow and got an extended hand in return.

He blew on the flames. They hopped onto that hand and didn’t hurt him, of course they didn’t. Lucifer was an angel now. ‘Oh, that’s nifty, isn’t it?’ he chuckled. ‘Doesn’t hurt at all; it kind of tickles! Look at that!’

He sent a tendril of fire at the demons, who scrambled off the stairs, wide-eyed. One individual from the rebelling side, whichever one it actually was, wasn’t so lucky. They perished in a burst of flames within seconds[1].

‘So I heard you wanted a new King,’ Crowley said. His finger drew a blue circle in the air. ‘Or no King at all? It’s kinda confusing, I’ll tell you. But here’s what. Hell without a King? Not a good idea, guys. Think for a while. Not so long ago, some of you went to LA to bring Lucifer back because the kingdom’s descended into utter chaos.’ He pointed a thumb at him. ‘Have you just forgotten that? That’s what would happen. _Chaos_. We love chaos, I know, but a decade from now? A century? Millennium? You wouldn’t _handle_ the paperwork, the influx of souls, none of that. When it’s all stored in an Archangel’s mind,’ he tapped his forehead, ‘it’s sorted. It’s getting done. It’s under control, it’s like—it’s like a background check constantly running and checking what’s wrong and fixing the computer at the same time, only the computer’s a whole _dimension_. You’ve got _no idea_ what the King actually _does_ , even off the Throne, have you?’

‘And you do?’ sneered a demon below.

He blew out his cheeks and created a snake out of the fire this time. ‘You’d be surprised.’

He didn’t know what it was like to actually _sit there_ and feel the echoes of a universe in his mind, but he was a former Archangel all the same. And besides, back in the old days, Lucifer had talked to him about it. He _knew_ what he was soon about to find out.

He saw someone on his left move and step closer. It was Beelzebub. ‘I sat there,’ she said, ‘for two minutes. Even that was enough to overload my mind so that I _discorporated_ , as you all know.’

‘So clearly,’ Lucifer finished, ‘any attempts at taking over are nothing but a mindless, pointless way to get arrested or killed.’ He held up a finger and raised his wings. ‘ _However_ , there’s a proposal that I made recently, maybe you’ve heard.’

‘You mean your stupid _parliament_?’ shouted another demon, who clearly belonged to those who disagreed with _that_ , _and_ with Lucifer[2].

‘Hell’s outdated as hell!’ Crowley shouted back. ‘I’ve been telling ya this for centuries! No, seriously, you’ll like this.’ He put on a wide, manic grin. ‘You’ll get to keep your control and Beelzebub being the main decision maker—decider?— _and_ the oversight of the King, who won’t have to be here _all the time_ but still often en—’

‘Not to get all _fired up_ , but why should we listen to _you_ , traitor?’ someone asked, acerbically, and another demon shouted something about an _abomination_. Well. He supposed it was time to pull the last trick out of his sleeve.

‘Well, I was saving this for later cos there’s a certain order to follow[3], but if you _must_ know,’ he said, ‘if all of Hell must know, I’m the guy who’s here to show you why anyone other than Lucifer sitting up there is a terrible idea.’ He pointed at the stone Throne, towering above the square they were currently on and facing the front of the Castle.

As he put his hand down, he unfurled his primary pair of wings, just as large as Lucifer’s and bright in their opalescent darkness. Demons didn’t make a habit of gasping, but this time, gasp they did.

Crowley thought of comparing this situation to bad earth movies where a princely character had given up all the pomp and power just to have a normal life but then still had to step up and become a king because his father died and his brothers were incapable idiots, but, realising that most of these demons would have no idea what the heaven he was on about, he refrained from further monologuing and decided to get on with it.

He took flight and headed for that stupid chair that was the cause of all this fuss.

He hadn’t wanted to accept it, because why would he be the king of something that was his undoing? But looking back, the Fall wasn’t his undoing at all. If anything, it had given him strength. It had shown him humanity and brought him closer to Aziraphale. If he’d still been in Heaven, he’d have probably ended up as corrupt and ignorant as his _siblings_ , and that was, in his honest opinion, a worse existence than being a demon. It was time he accepted this; brought the eternal internal conflict to an end.

‘When I bathed in Holy Water and came out of it unscathed, I told you you’d have a chance to find out what else I could do,’ he yelled at the whole square. ‘Well, I can also do this, for starters!’

He sat down.

It was like something hooked into his brain and sent a shockwave through his nervous system. _And_ his immaterial parts. Too much alcohol and ice cream at once. He felt pins and needles all over his body, but he didn’t even have time to register it in full for all the readings rushing through his mind. Landscapes, waters, inhabitants, souls, the weather[4], everything.

Oh, calling it _unpleasant_ would be an understatement. But he wasn’t Beelzebub. He didn’t feel like discorporating anytime soon. That simply wouldn’t do.

He tuned the noise out and pushed it to the background, opening his eyes. He didn’t even know he’d closed them. He also noticed an odd aftertaste in his mouth and an eerie tingle in the tips of his wings. He stretched them out and folded them, and made a face at the taste, but waggling his tongue about was no help, so he gave up.

Right. Throne. Demons. His mind didn’t know where to jump first, because all this was a _lot_ to take in. Right now, he had no idea how Lucifer managed it for so long. He must’ve got used to it and become numb to the constant presence of tonnes of information—and that was why the realm hasn’t really changed for so long, probably.

Well, it was time it did.

Crowley looked down. About two-thirds of the demons were kneeling. Lucifer and Beelzebub weren’t. Good. ‘Get up, you idiots!’ he ordered. He didn’t have to yell, because everyone would hear it, every single demon in Hell. As long as he sat there, it would go straight into everyone’s minds as if they were under some sort of sci-fi mind control spell. ‘I might be sitting here right now, but I’m not and never will be your King. Honestly, you don’t want me for King.’

‘That we can agree on!’ shouted someone below. Another demon, probably a sympathiser, seized him immediately. Crowley could learn their names if he wanted to, but that wasn’t his top priority where the infernal archives currently pumping information into his subconscious were concerned.

He needed to find out how to tap into that power and make it listen to him, just for a while. Because whoever sat there could shape the realm—or so the stories went. No one but Lucifer and Amenadiel have done it, and he hadn’t been here during the short period of Amenadiel’s reign.

And then there was Aziraphale. _I felt that, darling_ , he was saying in his head, a soft, echoing presence. _You did it, didn’t you?_

_Yeah, I did it, I’m sitting on the bleeding Throne of Hell, angel. I just need to find out how to—_

_You can reach their minds, can’t you? All of them? Make them think what you need them to think. Like an—illusion, a magic show!_

_You and your **magic** ,_ he groaned, internally. _But, hold on, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks. You can feel that? All the—the maps and stuff?_

_White noise. It’s giving me a bit of a headache to be honest; I don’t think I’m meant to experience that._

_Oh. Yeah. Figures. Well, I’m going to—I had an idea. Gotta do it quick. See if—I’ve got to focus, angel, my mind’s overwhelmed too and I need to focus on one thing…_

As much as one could hang up a telepathic conversation, he did exactly that.

It’s been so long since he last reached for his staff, oh, half an eternity. But it was almost like riding a bike. Hiding something in a pocket dimension and taking it back was child’s play, really—the only question was if it would actually _work_. Gabriel was onto something there.

A lot of entities thought the staff was a weapon, and it could become one under the right circumstances, but it was more of a power amplifier, a conductor that focused haphazard energy into a single point, whether that be healing energy, the power of creation, the power of destruction, or the power of imagination. Those few times he’d given it a thought, he’d reasoned that as a holy object, he wouldn’t be able to touch it without burning, and that even if he would, it would be a dangerous thing to keep around. But right now, it might just be useful if he got it back.

Which he, almost to his surprise, did.

The staff materialised in his hand, not a speck of rust on it. Did gold even rust? Probably not. But what it did was emit an enormous wave of light the moment Crowley closed his hand around it. The demons below covered their eyes. Wearing sunglasses, he didn’t have to.

What a kick! Oh, this felt _great_.

‘Oh yeah, that’s right. D’you know who I am now? Remember this? Bet you do.’ He spun the staff in his hand like it was a spoon and he was Aziraphale, getting restless while waiting for the onions to turn gold enough. ‘I’m going to show you something now.’

He pointed the staff’s end downwards, and, while not nearly long enough, it thumped against the ground and raised a cloud of dust. It was instinctive, even after this long. The connection re-established, telling him exactly what to do.

One moment, Hell was its usual gloomy self, and the next, the broken buildings were repaired and sporting fresh light plastering, the water in the single fountain clear, the streets properly paved, the clouds that permanently covered the sun dispersed, the centuries’ layers of dirt and blood washed away. Dis was a clean, modern, organised double of any larger Earth city, only instead of traffic noises, there were the wails of the damned. There was nothing to be done about _that_.

It was just an illusion—albeit strong enough to make the demons believe it. They’ve never had much imagination down here, while he was also an angel—demon— _being_ of creativity[5].

‘The Throne listens to whoever sits on it and shapes this dimension in their image, over time. It’s like a reflection of personality and belief and aeons of custom—and that’s what you are, creatures of custom. You _like it_ that way, but me? I _hate it_. I’m more of a minimalist myself, all light and no decorations, a perfectly swept, dusted flat, going with the times. And this is what Hell would be with me, an image of—’

He lost his voice. But now was no time to go into _another_ question-filled crisis of faith and person.

He made a circular gesture with the staff. ‘Well, almost an image of Heaven, isn’t it? Only with less paradise and more torture. I’m not saying that it won’t change now that Lucifer’s an angel again, but I know _you_ , I know what you’re _thinking._ Better the angel you know than the lying hybrid married to an angel and living among humans. I’ve always been too different; I know it, you know it, the whole bloody Universe knows it. So whaddaya say, eh, can we reach an agreement where we let Lucifer be the formal head of this kingdom represented by elective candidates from all of demonkind, and everyone’s happy ‘cos they get what they want, or do we have to do this the hard way, where I _make_ you agree? And trust me, it _won’t_ be nice.’

He wasn’t lying when he said he knew what they were thinking. All this metaphysical power behind the Throne could tell him the popular opinion of the citizens here, and boy, was a good half of them doubtful and distrustful.

‘You think I don’t have the guts to do anything,’ he scoffed. ‘Well, whoever sits here controls the entire realm, is that correct? And if I made it unpleasantly sunny, I can also make it unpleasantly rainy and haily, is that correct? Now, I don’t know about you, but I’d wager that someone who can summon Holy Fire can also bless water, and when you take _that_ ability plus _rain_ … well, I wouldn’t count on my chances, is all I’m saying.’

At last, the rebelling demons dropped their weapons. Beelzebub’s legionnaires captured them.

‘Great. I wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I’d be lying.’ Crowley waved his staff in the air, and the illusion dissolved. Only—he was surprised to find that the architecture retained its regained glory and the cobwebs and grime didn’t pick up where they left off accumulating.

Huh.

He flew down and landed next to Lucifer, who was as smug as anything, the bastard.

‘He’ll be joining the Infernal Parliament though,’ announced the Devil, clapping Crowley’s shoulder, right under his primary wing, ‘which will be under _my_ supervision, so I _will_ listen to you, but I’ll be doing so from my Los Angeles residence, and you can either accept this compromise or have a spot of a holy bath yourself, courtesy of my secret brother here, capiche?’

There was a wave of nods, reluctant in some cases. Others knelt again.

‘Don’t—don’t call me a secret brother, that sounds like something out of a soap opera,’ Crowley told Lucifer, quietly.

‘But you are!’ Lucifer remarked.

Crowley turned back to the crowd of demons. There was no sense in arguing with him. ‘So, if that’s all… as my last act as King, can I have that _wahoo_ now?’

* * *

1 It was an accident, but one he wasn’t going to apologise for. One fewer rebelling demon wasn’t a tragedy worth talking about, even if he’s changed. This was Hell.[✿]

2 Honestly, there were like _five_ groups of demons who all wanted a different thing, and they didn’t exactly wear different jerseys or helmets or whatnot, so forgive him for being a bit disoriented. He was actually surprised everyone knew whom to fight.

Little did he know that they _didn’t_ and sort of fought anyone who tried to fight _them_. It wasn’t a war yet; it was more like a bar fight. No one knew who started it anymore, or what side everyone was on, only that they should most definitely fight.[✿]

3 He had a full presentation prepared in his head, like a PowerPoint but without the slides. He should’ve known the demons would butt in and mess it all up though. He _really_ should’ve.[✿]

4 Hell was a part of the universe just like any other place; a dimension overlapping with that of the Earth and the Solar System. One layer on another, invisible to humans who only viewed things in their own plane of existence and couldn’t cross between parallel dimensions. It had a natural landscape, an atmosphere, a sky, rivers and lakes. Of course it had different weather too. It was mostly cloudy and/or stormy, and the high concentration of oxides in the air caused acid rains, but there was a sun behind all that too, a bright sky. It just didn’t show up often.[✿]

5 People usually attributed healing to Raphael, which was true enough, but he was also a patron of creativity of all kinds, happy meetings, travellers, lovers, nightmares, and mental illness to list a few.[✿]


	30. Aftermath

It wasn’t the Throne itself that was the worst part of this whole _experience_ , Crowley soon found out. It was what happened _after_.

The stares, coming from every corner of the Castle. The scrutinising gazes he couldn’t escape, the condescending looks, and, what was worse, the gaping worshippers that insisted on following Lucifer and him inside, calling out his name as if he were bloody God Himself. He was really starting to understand Lucifer’s issues with Satanists and other mindless cults who did things in the name of the Devil now, because it was annoying, and _wrong_ , and did he mention bloody preposterous?

This was what he’d wanted to _avoid_. A little popularity mixed with fear and a small fanbase among the colleagues was lovely; that gave you results. All of Hell suddenly knowing you were royalty? Nope. There was a certain freedom to it[1], but also more _scrutiny_. He’d lost the habit of being observed and idolised by everyone a _long_ time ago, and he wasn’t exactly keen on going back to that.

Not entirely.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a long way to the Devil’s office, which also doubled as a meeting room for the highest powers of Hell until they formed a proper parliament and moved somewhere bigger.

A hand on the handle, Lucifer turned on his heel. He faced Beelzebub and her buzzing flies. They sounded a bit irritated, and Crowley couldn’t blame them. ‘Beelzebub, summon the other Princes, would you?’ Lucifer said. He didn’t wait for her reply and ushered Crowley in.

He hasn’t stepped foot in there for what, seven decades? The decorations haven’t changed, so much was for sure. If the hideous tapestries could pass for decorations anyway, which he highly doubted. Hell had no sense of _aesthetics_ —and thank Heavens for that, or his plan wouldn’t have worked.

Miserable creatures of habit indeed.

‘I’m only staying temporarily,’ he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. ‘You get that, right?’

‘Of course, of…’ Lucifer trailed off, looking at something on the desk. Probably. Crowley couldn’t exactly tell, because he stood with his back to him. ‘Course. Absolutely. I do keep my promises, what do you take me for?’ He turned around, a grin that promised nothing good on his face. ‘I only need you to stick around until a new code is written and the parliament is fully established.’

‘But that could take weeks! _Months_!’

‘Not with that attitude,’ he pointed out. ‘Look here, Crowley. Two Archangels can do this better than one, especially now that everyone knows who and _what_ you are—and don’t tell me you don’t want to lend a hand with amending Hell’s laws. This is the opportunity of the—well, all of history, don’t you think?’

Well, he wasn’t _wrong_. That was what he’d come here for. Still, he was expecting to spend a week here, tops. _Months_ weren’t a part of the deal. And speaking of—

‘I still want that written and signed though. Y’know, insurance.’

‘Sit down then,’ Lucifer said, clicking his fingers in the direction of a table Crowley wasn’t sure was there before—or if it was, it certainly wasn’t large enough to fit twenty[2]. Crowley sat in the chair nearest Lucifer’s desk, crossed his legs, and tried to pretend to be relaxed.

Lucifer walked around his desk and sat in his chair. He took a piece of paper and a pen from the top drawer and started writing. ‘I hereby declare…’

He read the decree out loud as he wrote so Crowley couldn’t say he was being wronged or cheated, and sometimes he allowed his words to be corrected. Especially the part about Crowley’s role in this whole Infernal Parliament and him being eligible to be summoned only, and _only_ in case of emergencies which required intervention that was beyond even the Princes’ power. Such as this one. Not that he’d ever do that again.

He hoped he wouldn’t need to, anyway, and that Hell would be satisfied with the new arrangement at bloody _last_.

‘If you feel every demon’s mind nagging at you,’ Crowley suddenly asked, ‘could you feel my presence too? This whole time? Because it would be stronger since we’re—’

‘Siblings, yes. How did you think I knew that you’ve been lying in your reports and always doing something you weren’t supposed to[3]?’ He looked up, smirking. Crowley made a grimace at that. ‘And how did it feel, switching roles with me?’

‘So— _overwhelming_ ,’ Crowley admitted. There wasn’t exactly time to talk about it before. Or differentiate between Lucifer’s mind among all the demons in the twenty or so minutes he spent feeling it. That was why he was asking. ‘Honestly, how can you _bear_ that for so long, every _second_ …?’

‘Oh, I stopped noticing it a while ago,’ he said, confirming his earlier suspicions. ‘Really, after a few centuries, you just become desensitised and carry on with your duties. You don’t really feel it on Earth though, different dimensions and all. That’s one of the reasons I like it.’

‘Makes sense. Kind of explains the lack of interior changes too.’

‘I must say, I did like the work you did there. Cleaning Hell up, well done!’ Lucifer laughed. He went back to writing the final bits of the decree. He didn’t read it out anymore.

‘Are you admitting not only that you _need me_ , but also that you _like my work_?’ Crowley raised a sharp eyebrow. ‘Ohh, if I celebrated Christmas, I’d say it came early.’

‘Shut up,’ was the irritated reply. ‘Aren’t you becoming a bit too cheerful?’

‘Ngk, ‘s how I cope,’ Crowley muttered. He pointed at the seemingly finished document. ‘So what’s on there, then?’

‘Is this good enough for His Majesty?’ Lucifer asked as he passed him the sheet of paper, sarcasm dripping from every word. ‘Can we continue now?’

Crowley narrowed his eyes. He chose not to comment on that. He did, however, comment on the lack of other demons in the room while skimming over the finished draft.

‘They’ll be here any minute now,’ Lucifer said. He glanced at the clock, which wasn’t even showing the correct time when compared with Crowley’s watch. ‘I imagine it’s one Hell of a mess out there. See what I did there? Hell of a mess?’

‘Yeah, I see what you did there,’ Crowley said dryly. He gave the document back to him to sign. There was no fine print where loopholes could find themselves lurking, and everything was pretty straightforward as far as he was concerned. No reason not to trust it.

‘And what about the cult?’

Lucifer scribbled his official seal on the decree and asked, ‘What about it?’

‘I don’t want it to go into extremes. I don’t know what it was like before I came here, but I’ve proven them right, Lucifer. Can’t they be dangerous, to your reign? And I certainly don’t want a merry band of fools following me around.’

The procession that insisted on accompanying him here was enough, thank you very much. Any more young demons asking for his advice and opinions and help, and he’ll start thinking he was that brilliant angel all the hatchlings followed around and looked at in awe as they watched him create things and make things _better_ all over again. Those were problematic memories, satanblessit.

‘I can monitor them, and investigate, and they’re not getting Earth passes[4], that’s for sure,’ Lucifer replied. ‘But in the grand scheme of things, I wouldn’t worry. There are more troublesome individuals that need to be dealt with.’

Someone banged on the door and almost knocked it open.

Crowley whipped his head around, ready for potential threats, but it was just Beelzebub and her fellow Princes. And some of the Dukes. None of them was too eager to see Crowley sitting there though, if their disdainful gazes and bared teeth were any proof.

He put on a broad grin and sprang to his feet. ‘Hey there, demons! Welcome! Let’s get to it, shall we?’

‘I don’t care if you’re bloody Raphael or not, I won’t hesitate to stab you if you’re annoying,’ said Dagon when she passed him by, and showed him her sharp teeth a little too gleefully. She dropped into a chair together with the rest of the party. There was fifteen of them.

‘Knew I could count on you,’ Crowley said, still grinning. He plopped back into his chair.

‘Please don’t,’ Lucifer told her, ‘or I might have to intervene.’

She looked utterly unimpressed by any of them, which was per se an action quite impressive.

‘So that is who you are,’ came from the other side of the table. It was Asmodeus, the only other demon besides Lucifer and Crowley himself who cared about his appearance and wouldn’t be seen in anything less than silken shirts. The way he looked at him, like he was _scanning him_ , made him uncomfortable, always has done. One tempter to another… ‘I did see something familiar about that staff.’

Crowley drummed his fingers on the table. ‘So, erm. You didn’t recognise me?’

‘It’s funny,’ said Astaroth, who was sitting next to him. ‘We don’t actually remem—’

‘Remember. Yeah, no, you wouldn’t. It’s a bit of a long story, which isn’t important right now.’ Crowley drew himself up and rested his elbows on the table. ‘The important thing is this: an _election_.’

That was one of the things he’d discussed with Lucifer on the way to Hell.

‘You want to hold an election?’ asked Beelzebub. The question was directed at Lucifer.

‘Yes. How else are we to create a parliament, using the Goblet of Fire?’ There was a series of murmurs, most of which asked _the what?_ ‘Right, never mind. I should probably start this meeting officially, from the beginning.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You have always been the manpower behind the workings of Hell, and more so in the last eight years. That’s not much on the eternal scale, barely a blink of an eye, but it is the beginning. Of what, you ask? Well, of making it official and writing it down on a piece of paper[5], since that’s how you insist on doing things these days. You heard what he said up there.’

It took Crowley a second too long to get that Lucifer was talking about him. ‘Oh, yeah. _Lucifer_ stays King, and _you_ stay in power. A nice arrangement, don’t you think?’

‘That depends, where do _you_ fit in?’ asked Duke Vepar. He was a fish demon like Dagon, and Crowley was fairly certain they were, well, _involved_. They were sitting next to each other right now. And shared the same, rather unfavourable, opinion of him.

But then again, half of Hell did.

‘Don’t mind me, I’ll get out of your feathers as soon as this is dealt with, and you won’t have to hear from me ever again,’ he assured all fifteen demons. ‘And you _certainly_ don’t have to worry about me stealing the Throne. Didn’t want it back then, don’t want it now. Go ahead and forget about me again.’

‘Somehow I don’t think that’s possible,’ grumbled Leviathan, the crocodile Prince. The others agreed, very loudly and chaotically. It took three minutes to calm them enough for Crowley to respond and be heard.

‘Then don’t. All I’m saying is, I have no interest in staying, and I know you don’t want me here either, so we’re all _good_. I asked for this no more than you did.’ He held up an index finger, and was surprised when they actually stayed quiet without a show of blue fire. ‘Now, let’s talk government! The sooner the better, eh?’

Commotion, yet again, rose up around the table.

Lucifer raised his arms. ‘Be quiet! Or if you disagree, feel free to leave—but for as long as Crowley’s here, so is his staff. And with those powers, anything could happen.’

‘I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you,’ said Beelzebub, sending a sharp look the other demons’ way. ‘We will hear what Lucifer has to say.’

He gave her a nod. ‘Right. First off, I am appointing _you_ my House of Lords.’ He made a circular gesture around the table. ‘But I need _all_ the high-ranking demons, Marquises, Counts, everyone, regardless of whether they agree with me or not. We are to hold a meeting tomorrow, you’ll know when. Write it down.’

Some did, some didn’t. It naturally didn’t go without questions and shouting.

‘ _Secondly_ ,’ he shouted over them, ‘it’s time Lilim and Fallen of no rank get a say in important matters of the realm, and they will be my House of Commons. All to be discussed later. Thirdly, someone get me a drink, because this is going to be a _long_ day yet.’

* * *

1 He could yell at Hastur and all those Dukes and Under-Dukes without sanction, oh yes. Thousands and thousands of years he spent being humiliated and bad-mouthed by them every day, which was fine! He was a nobody, and had different opinions. That was normal practice. But if they said something, say, rude about Aziraphale, he could discorporate them without fear of it turning against him, so that was something.[✿]

2 Much like Crowley and Aziraphale’s house, Hell was attuned to the needs and whims of those inhabitants that were the most important—in this case the King, obviously. When a large meeting-appropriate table was needed, it found itself appearing.[✿]

3 Siblings had their own sort of bond. It was a hundred times weaker than that of a properly bonded couple, no telepathy or any of that was available, but they could boost each other’s powers on touch or finish each other’s sentences, not really knowing how. That was why Lucifer wanted to keep Crowley there, he suspected. They were both pretty powerful alone, but if they combined their powers, Hell could go supernova, just like that. Universes could be destroyed, or created. Time could be unwound and travelled around. So, if anything were to go haywire even after _that_ show, there would always be a backup plan.

Lucifer, though, would only know all this because of his being the King and being able to sense the mind of any and all demons if desired, Crowley included. He had no idea what the rest of them were up to in Heaven.[✿]

4 Every demon who didn’t work on Earth on official business, such as Crowley had before, had to have a special permit from the highest office to be able to visit ever since Lucifer had banned possessions. They weren’t easy to obtain, much like everything else in Hell. The queues were _monstrous_.[✿]

5 In triplicate, naturally, and then copying it some more and sending it to the archives of every city in Hell.[✿]


	31. In a Broody Mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably seen it already, but in case you haven't: Neil & Co released a [lockdown minisode](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=quSXoj8Kob0&feature=youtu.be) today to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the book! 
> 
> In other words: Aziraphale baking lots of cakes and pastries and baking them perfectly is canon now :) We all called it, guys.

Twelve days. The meetings went on for _twelve days_.

Crowley, for the most part, spent those days either yelling at the House of Lords, trying to convince them why everything Lucifer, Beelzebub, and he were suggesting was a good idea and playing with illusions a little bit more—he basically invented virtual reality in a place where having a video projector was a miracle!—or hiding somewhere unrelated and being hyperactively bored.

He sequestered himself at the Starbucks for a day and tried to teach the poor demons who worked there how to make _proper_ coffee with _proper_ machines, for example. No one, not even demons, should have to drink lukewarm brown water that tasted a bit like piss and disappointment and was either _way_ too strong or just that: coffee-scented water. They would need more guidance and at least a month of practice to get the knack of it, but they turned out not to be as hopeless as one might think. They even listened to him[1]!

Then there was Day Ten.

On Day Ten, he gave up trying to run from those who called themselves his cult and met with them—because the day Crowley stopped being Curious was the day he _died_ , and good luck with that; he was even harder to kill now. And he was really, really curious about their agenda.

If he got nothing out of them, he’d thought, at least he could yell at them to stop being idiots and trying to make him into something he was not, personally.

There was no need. For all the annoyance they were, they had good questions and, after they _swore_ not to get on their knees and make some sort of sacred idol out of him, were the first attentive audience who were truly enthusiastic about the stuff he had to say.

Most of the demons were his hellish co-workers, or demons who disagreed with Lucifer and the current system and, upon noticing his unusual display of power in the bath, saw him as an opportunity to change things. Those had to settle for the fact that he wanted _Lucifer_ to rule, and if they really wanted him to be their King, they had to respect _that_.

But then he recognised a few faces from—Before. The Virtues who had served under him[2].

There were at least twenty of them. Which was impossible. No one was supposed to remember him. The higher-ups certainly didn’t; he’d asked. For a while there he wondered whether he could’ve unlocked certain memories when he sat on the Throne, but the Cult had existed even _before_ that. If he believed in coincidences, he would say that it was a big one and move on. But he didn’t. Certainly not anymore.

‘We only knew that you were… different,’ said one demon, Voiola. She was his colleague, a fellow tempter. ‘More powerful than you let on. And really, I kinda thought you weren’t a bad one before, not a sadist like Hastur and Ligur who bullied me on the regular, and then you offed Ligur! And survived Holy Water! So I thought, you know, let’s gather as many demons as possible and get you to notice us. And then you could help. Guess that was the plan.’

‘We had no idea that you were Raphael. We didn’t even know he—you—Fell,’ said another, the self-proclaimed leader of the group. Crowley didn’t know him personally.

He had suspected as much.

That didn’t explain the abnormally high number of ex-Virtues in the group, though. Especially since not many of them Fell at all[3]. They called them Virtues for a reason.

Well. They didn’t _remember_ , but there must’ve been—tiny cracks in the barrier built around the memories of him that, while not letting any actual images or audio out, definitely leaked _thoughts_ and _ideas_. They probably didn’t even know why they felt the way they did about him, they just felt like following him.

And the Universe felt like fucking with him.

Or something. That was his working theory, anyway. It _couldn’t_ just be a coincidence.

Add to that the nightmare he’d had in the morning of his wedding day—which felt like so _long ago_ now even if it was just _twelve days_ —and he was liking his theories less and less.

Anyway. He digressed. Elections were currently in the process of being prepared, Hell had a big new meeting chamber[4], and a code was _almost_ written. And Crowley was right there in the middle of it, sipping at a slightly better Frappuccino than those they’d served before and still trying to make sense of his existence.

Was he right? Was this where he was supposed to go? Accepting, moving on, and getting stuck in the bureaucratic circle of Hell all over again, only this time with a flavour of the old times? Was this another test, a lesson to learn? “Things will turn for the better if you don’t hide from the world and 100% own up to the Flash Bastard moniker and your intimidatingly large opalescent wings”?

‘In a broody mood, are we?’

‘What?’ he asked unwittingly. He turned his head and saw Lucifer staring at him, one eyebrow raised. ‘Hmm. Guess—a bit, yeah. There’s been a lot of,’ he swallowed, ‘changes. I’m a fan of changes, me, when they happen gradually, one at a time. It’s like—’ He mimicked an explosion with his hands. ‘—now.’

At this point, he should probably specify that a meeting has been put on hold half an hour ago, and from that point on, a tired Crowley has been sitting in a chair in a tired Lucifer’s office, hoping the coffee would do something about that. Oddly enough, this place was the only room where he could feel _normal_ and engage in at least semi-normal conversations.

Someone always wanted something from him or looked at him all weird everywhere else, so as fate would have it, he spent his time with his brother. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t hate it. He got… used to him.

He wasn’t as angry with him as he’d been before, at any rate.

‘Well, you did stop Armageddon, confessed your love to the angel, moved out of London, met me again, got engaged, found the truth about yourself, and that no one remembered you, and that Holy Water didn’t hurt you, got married, met all your siblings for the first time since the Fall, became a temporary King of Hell and thus revealed your identity to every single demon, learnt the truth about your cult and having a cult in the first place, got your staff back, and helped reform Hell, all in what, ten months?’ Lucifer counted, annoyingly amused. ‘You’re right, that’s quite a lot.’

He pointed a finger at him. ‘And it’s _your_ fault.’

‘Blame the Devil, of course, why don’t you. Anyone else wants to take a jab at me?’ he shouted into the empty room, arms outstretched. Coffee threatened to spill out of the cup he was holding in one of them but wisely decided against it.

‘Well, no, it’s on God,’ Crowley reconsidered, half a groan. He took a sip of his drink. ‘And ourselves. Mostly on ourselves.’

Lucifer folded his arms in his lap. ‘So you believe me now?’ he asked. The expression on his face was oddly earnest.

‘And I hate it, thanks.’ Crowley threw his head back and let the cup dangle in his hand, without ever falling. ‘Things were simple back then.’

They were both silent for a while.

‘If the last meeting today goes well and the constitution is adopted[5], you can go, Crowley,’ Lucifer said eventually.

Crowley straightened himself so fast it gave him whiplash. ‘I can?’

Lucifer rolled his eyes. ‘Once it’s the law, it’s the law, isn’t it? The demons aren’t that stupid; knowing that I could call you back any time is enough to keep them from rebelling again, I should think. Not for a while, and _especially_ not with all the rebel leaders in the dungeons,’ he chuckled.

‘I didn’t say anything about calling me back any t—’

‘But they don’t know that, do they?’ Lucifer pointed out. ‘And surely, a big rebellion _would_ warrant your return, especially in my absence. I won’t be able to leave for a while yet, not until the system’s fully functional and I can know for sure that in between my yearly visits, they’ll handle it without me, but that doesn’t mean I have to hold you here too.’ He sighed, probably disbelieving his selflessness and much as Crowley did. He perked up just as quickly. ‘You sped up the process quite considerably, brother dear.’

Crowley hid a grimace in his cup and drained the rest of the coffee. He _was_ actually feeling somewhat refreshed, though that might just be his own conviction of the coffee’s powers. Either way! A kick. And it didn’t even taste horrible. Yay him!

‘Hng. Thanks,’ he said out loud.

‘You should definitely visit me in LA sometime, hit the club when it’s actually open,’ Lucifer said. As an afterthought, he added, ‘Bring your husband too.’

Crowley snorted, remembering the garden conversation. The circumstances have changed, but he hasn’t. ‘Still not interested. And don’t think this changes anything; we’re _not_ doing family reunions. Once a century is enough.’

‘Well, we’ll see about that yet,’ Lucifer said, smiling enigmatically. He downed his coffee as well and went back to reviewing the paperwork.

‘Though I’m not meeting Gabriel ever again if it can be helped. Or Uriel. Or Michael,’ he said a while later. He paused while turning a page and gave Crowley a look. ‘And actually, I see your point now.’

‘Yep,’ he said, popping the p. ‘And c’mon, you went over that like five times, it’s _fine_. Let’s call ‘em back and fuck ‘em up.’

‘You know what, Crowley?’ Crowley raised an eyebrow, asking _what?_ ‘You’re a _natural_.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘I almost can’t tell you didn’t want to so much as set foot in Hell a month and a half ago; you’re owning the place! Honestly, you’d have made a good King. I keep telling you.’

And Crowley kept telling him that he wasn’t cut out for that and that there was a _reason_ he rejected it over and over, and this little excursion changed nothing about the fact. But here they were, again. Maybe he was right; maybe he _was_ good at it. He was even enjoying it, just a little bit, being the voice people listened to and making a difference. But just as Aziraphale has never been the warrior type, Crowley’s never been the leader type. Not long-term.

‘Nah, I’d end up the same as you, getting bored and running away,’ he said. ‘The only thing I haven’t run away from permanently was Aziraphale, big emphasis on _permanently_. And he was my _enemy_ ; I’d make a terrible example.’

Lucifer deliberated that. He said, ‘You never ran away from Heaven, either.’

‘Yeah, no, was kicked out. Rather rudely and unexpectedly,’ Crowley said bitterly.

‘You and I both,’ Lucifer replied. ‘But I meant the Heaven inside, you know. That bit of kindness and love. And I heard you liked things modern, clean, and organised?’ He was smirking, the bastard.

‘Ngk, I—possibly. Though I’ve been running from—’ He took a deep breath and let it out, through the nose. ‘Myself.’

* * *

1 In fear of Holy Fire, Holy Water, and the wrath of Satan, but it was probably best not to tell him that if he didn’t figure it out himself.[✿]

2 There were three spheres of angels, and those three spheres were divided into three choirs. Each one had a designated leader, and Raphael had been in charge of the Virtues. They had a different one now, but he was still in the records somewhere.[✿]

3 The funniest thing was that he’d never seen them after the Fall, not these particular demons. He didn’t remember them. He didn’t think of them—but of course some must’ve Fallen. And here they were, looking _much_ different but still wearing the same faces under all the… demonishness. A part of the Cult of Crowley, not knowing he’d been their leader once before, once upon a time. It made an odd sort of sense now, the whole thing.[✿]

4 Courtesy of Lucifer using his realm-shaping powers for the first time since the Explosion Incident of 1848.[✿]

5 It took them eight days to put it together. When they wanted to, and needed to, demons could occasionally be efficient. Again, Lucifer and the Princes had the most say in it, and Crowley typed the whole thing up on a tablet he borrowed from—read: snatched from the hands of—an Eric. It was the only functional piece of modern tech Hell had, that. The process of establishing the Commons and arguing who and how many could even be a part of it took much longer, as did organising the elections. That would be on the table for the fifth time later today.[✿]


	32. Heart on His Sleeve

It took fourteen days in the end.

Two whole weeks—because demons and punctuality simply didn’t match unless it was the _actual_ Apocalypse. Crowley had gone to Hell in June and came back almost mid-July. But while that place has _changed_ , politically and physically, Earth still baked in the same suffocating dry heat that seemed to want to occupy Europe for the rest of the summer and swarmed with people moving from place to place, ignorant of anything that had just gone down. Good old humans.

It almost felt unbecoming.

He didn’t come straight home.

He walked out of the main entrance, checked on the people running A. Z. Fell’s in Aziraphale’s stead[1] and the general state of the bookshop—immediately reporting this to Aziraphale via telepathic message—and then excused himself and headed for the nearest pub.

Hell had no decent alcohol, only semi-decent coffee now that he fixed that, and he’s been in sore need of a stiff drink since about Day Seven. Thus, Crowley bought a bottle of bourbon and got slowly, steadily, and rather exquisitely sloshed, all the while Thinking About Things.

Hell. Heaven. His siblings. Aziraphale. The bloody Fall. That one conversation that had set off the chain of events that had led him into this predicament in the first place.

It was dark when he stumbled out of there. Dark and still too warm for a jacket.

Crowley looked around the unusually busy street[2] and, upon seeing the cars and the bus or two, realised that this was still London. He didn’t live there anymore. He lived by the _sea_ , and he had to get there somehow.

The Bentley stood parked in his garage, and he was in no state to drive right now anyway, so the way he saw it, he had three options. One: sober up and fly. Two: sober up and take a train to Brighton and then to Climping. Three: fuck sobering up and teleport.

He, naturally, chose the third. It was the quickest. Also the one most likely to fail, but that was neither here nor there. He gathered up all the concentration he had left in his pleasantly woozy brain and snapped his fingers, thinking of the sand, of crashing waves, of _Aziraphale_ sitting in his armchair, reading with a cuppa or maybe a glass of white.

The drunkenness made it somewhat harder to focus on him, even if the bond should theoretically make it easier. He briefly wondered whether Aziraphale was drunk too by osmosis or whatever it was called—but he didn’t get very far with that because a second later, he landed in wet sand.

Beach. That was a good sign. The wobbling wasn’t. He needed something to hold onto.

Before his brain could tell him that there was no such thing as conveniently placed furniture on beaches, he was clutching the infamous staff and leaning against it as if it were a lamppost. He frowned at the twin snakes winding around the rod in a confused, questioning manner, but of course, they couldn’t answer. Inanimate objects usually didn’t tend to, the last time he checked.

Right. He needed to find out if this was the right beach next.

Crowley turned round, sloppily pushing the sunglasses—an obstacle more than anything in the middle of the night—into his hair. He squinted. If the house standing some hundred metres to the left was anything to go by, it _was_. Thank somebody.

The light was on in the sitting room.

He blinked, slowly, and thought, _I’m home, angel._ Then he swayed on his legs without meaning to and added, _just, give me a sec._

He sank to his knees, still holding onto the staff. He looked up. Not at the house; at the sky. You couldn’t really see stars in London due to all the light pollution[3], but here, they were all there on a clear night. He looked out for those he’d built.

 _Crowley, are you alright?_ Aziraphale asked, sounding eager, alarmed. Crowley had shut the door between their minds at the pub; they’d been talking all the time in Hell, but he needed a moment alone with his thoughts today.

 _Fine_ , he said. _Bit plastered. And I’m coming home. Can’t wait. But I’ve got something to do first. Please don’t listen. Five minutes._

He saw the mental image of Aziraphale nodding and choosing not to question him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried or overcome with the need to _do_ listen. It was still fresh, that, but they’d got used to it fairly quickly.

Crowley put that wall up again, as well as a brain drowning in alcohol could, and slumped against his staff. For a minute, he just sat in the cooling sand and breathed.

‘You listening?’ he shouted at the stars eventually. It’s been a while. And look, there wasn’t even the barrier of a ceiling here, as little as that actually mattered. God was always listening. ‘Yeahhh. You’re jus’ not replying. ‘Ver mind. Still got something to ssssay.’

Crowley stared at the waves illuminated by the waxing moon. They were calm, relaxing. Not like the lake on the outskirts of Dis.

‘‘Menadiel said we are what we believe we are. That you don’ control us an’ we are repson—responsible for our actions. Is that true? Are you testing _us_ too, how we… react, adapt, I dunno. Or are you jus’ watching us from your _cloud_ and letting us think something thasss not true because—because—we need to learn a lesson or something.’

Needless to say, no one answered his questions. It was a bit of a habit with Them, wasn’t it?

‘Y’know, whatever it is, I think I’m getting it,’ he continued. He’s been Thinking, and he had Opinions. Sometimes even Answer-like Ideas. And after the month and a half he’s _had_ —

‘We’re all where we _have to be_. But it’s not on _you_. It’s on _us_ an’ our choices. An’ I’m where I belong, with ‘Ziraphale. Here. On Earth. But I wouldn’t be if I wasstill ‘n angel, I mean, I don’t have Uriel’s alibi—atili— _abilities_ ‘f prediction, but that’s still clear as day. There were sssso many angels an’ I wasn’t in touch with his kind, the—you know. Fighty angels[4].’

He made a gesture not dissimilar to that which Aziraphale had made when asked about the Flaming Sword.

‘He was different even then, but that doesn’t matter in the grand sssscheme of things. I met ‘im once. _Once_. I liked ‘im, I did, but I never spoke to ‘im again. We didn’t cross paths.’ A laugh passed Crowley’s lips. ‘Look at us now! Bonded! For better or for worse! An’ the Earth assssignment and all the ‘xperience, I wouldn’t get that either. You learn a lot in Hell. You learn to get by on your own, survive, be the outcast high or low. It’s a dark place, and you either stagnate and walk through the dirt or you crawl your way out. Your light doesn’t shine on us there—and a lot of demons think no light will ever shine on them again and so they must be wily and evil and cruel, because you were cruel to _them_.’

Suddenly, he noticed his syllables weren’t slurring together anymore and his head felt a lot clearer. He didn’t even know he’d sobered up. It was almost metaphorical, thinking of Hell and facing the cold reality and subconsciously _doing it_. Bloody Hell.

He shook his head. ‘But they’re wrong. You can find the light if you want to. If you try. Lucifer did. Lucifer! I mean, he’s the Lightbringer, it makes sense, but…’ He trailed off.

‘As I told Aziraphale, I’m better off where I am now. And you know what?’ Crowley paused. He took a deep breath. ‘ _I forgive you_. And I forgive myself. Things happened. It was a long time ago, and not even I can change the past, time-bending powers or not. I mean, I went down a dark path because I thought that was _it_ , I was unforgivable, I didn’t have a choice, _especially_ given who I—who I’d been. But I found the light, and it’s that angel over there, sitting in his favourite armchair. I don’t know if you had anything to do with—with me meeting him again or not, but. Thanks.

‘And this whole Hell stint? I needed to go. I needed to see my former charges there, seeing the truth and not really seeing it at the same time, but… but I lost my point. But there was a point to that, and it wasn’t just improving the taste of the coffee and putting on a few illusions. I got _this_ back.’ He caught the staff with both hands. It _glowed_. ‘I talked to Lucifer properly. And I realised things. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. And thanks for that too. I’ve been an idiot. A stupid idiot.’

He winced and pointed a hand at the sky, warningly. ‘This doesn’t mean we’re all good though, got that? The Apocalypse fuckery is another thing entirely, and frankly, there’s no excuse for your absentee parenting, but I’m pretty sure you’ve heard enough about that from Luci. That’s for another time.’

He let the hand drop onto the sand. He gathered some of it up, not really knowing why.

‘But. That love, that light? I don’t _care_ what demons and my siblings think of me, ‘m letting it in. Did when we bonded. Because, see, it’s funny, this whole time I never even _said_ anything because I thought I didn’t deserve love, ever, and that the angel deserved someone better than pathetic old me, a _demon_. I was Fallen; I didn’t deserve anything. But to Hell with that. I’m a demon, I do what I _want_. And I’m pretty blessed amazing, don’t you think?

‘I asked questions. You don’t Fall for asking questions. Aziraphale crossed like fifty lines over the centuries and stayed an angel; no, it’s not all that straightforward. I had to Fall. He had to stay. I’m not regretting it anymore. I’m accepting it. I was a healer once. Think it’s time I heal myself.’

Crowley got up with the help of the staff, one leg after another. He raised it up in the air. There was one more thing to do. He closed his eyes and drew another deep breath. He pictured the nightmare he’s been avoiding; the scene where he insisted on not being known multiple times in a row, to be precise. He didn’t know whether _he_ erased everyone’s memories of himself or not, but if he did, it was a defence mechanism. Now they all knew anyway, and the world didn’t end.

‘I’m not hiding anymore,’ he said. ‘I’m Crowley, former name Raphael, and I’m right here.’

He put it down, letting it sink into the sand once more. His lips curled up in a crooked half-smile. ‘Good talk, Big G. Good talk.’

Crowley miracled his clothes clean, because he would never hear the end of it if he carried wet sand indoors _again_ , and walked home.

* * *

1 They were graduate students who have been coming there for about three years now, since they were undergraduates. Here’s a thing about Aziraphale: he absolutely hated when people tried to buy his books, but if they only came, borrowed the book for an hour of reading in the armchair in the corner, and then put it back? Oh, that was an entirely different story. And these three literature students from the University of London—Sarah, Wanda, and Vijay—always took great care of his precious books. Throughout the years, they even seemed to have decoded his shelving system and understood which books could and couldn’t go, so he let them stay and hold down the fort for a bit of money in exchange for monthly reports when he moved to the South Downs.[✿]

2 The difference between a Saturday night in London and in a small town didn’t even need explaining.[✿]

3 Crowley still remembered the times when streetlights weren’t a thing and he could look up from the window in his flat and see the Milky Way. He missed those times, as much as he loved the discovery of electricity.[✿]

4 Aziraphale had, after all, been demoted only after Adam and Eve. He’d very much been a Cherub, and a platoon leader no less, before and during the Great War. That had been the first of his many failures as a fighter, though.[✿]


	33. Before the War

When you needed a moment of peace in the Silver City, away from siblings and planet-drafting responsibilities, you went to the sea right at the very edge. It was calm and endless and poured right into the dark of the universe, although no one really knew how or why. It was just there because God said so[1]; it wasn’t to be questioned. It existed for personal relaxation, and that was that.

That wasn’t to say many angels came there at all. The concept of personal relaxation wasn’t a popular one among most of them, not at this stage of crafting the Universe, when stardust was only being formed into rocks and those rocks, barely, being formed into the first planets orbiting the first stars. Everyone was always busy.

That suited Raphael perfectly.

He was busy too, mind, but a break every now and then only did one good, he always said. Stretching one’s wings and getting away from the tumult of the Hall of Creation. He’s been working on the Alpha Centauri star system with Uriel and Lucifer recently, and their bickering would make the task challenging even if God hadn’t come up with this _binary star_ thing. Difficult to engineer, that was.

He walked along the shore and let his feet dig into the soft, silvery sand. There was this spot almost at the far end of the city which he particularly liked, with a bench under a pair of cherry blossom trees that never went out of bloom. He headed there, helping the process along with a few beats of his wings.

However, the bench was already occupied when he arrived.

Well, that was… unusual. He didn’t tend to run into anyone there.

But his eyes weren’t deceiving him—another angel was sitting there, a Cherub going by the two pairs of cream-coloured swan’s wings. Now _that_ was even more unusual. Raphael didn’t often see their kind other than in God and Goddess’ immediate proximity. He didn’t seem to have noticed him yet and kept gazing at the water[2], occasionally fluttering a wing about.

Raphael, always curious about meeting angels he hasn’t—well, met yet, walked up to him and said, ‘Hi. Mind if I join you?’

The angel startled and looked up at him with radiant blue eyes. Raphael liked those eyes. His hair was so pale it almost shone, and he longed to touch it. ‘Oh, erm. Hello,’ said the angel, smiling politely. He shifted to the right side of the silver bench. ‘Do you come here often?’

Raphael sat down, carefully arranging his wings so as not to invade the angel’s space. ‘Every now and then, when I’m not off creating planets, you know how it goes, err…’

‘Aziraphale,’ the angel supplied[3]. He looked Raphael up and down, white tunic to the golden snake emblem on his cheek. ‘You’re the Archangel Raphael,’ he concluded, a little bit in wonder, a little bit still startled.

‘Yes, that’s me. Don’t be alarmed, I don’t bite. Even if I am partially a snake.’

Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of that. He was of high rank, but he clearly didn’t have much experience with anyone beyond Kerubiel[4]. He was probably new. And he was certainly different than the rest of them, that much Raphael could tell. He appreciated his almost casual approach; not many angels gave him that. He was always One of the Seven, only a step under God and Goddess themselves, and thus hardly anyone came to him for simple conversation. They wouldn’t dare say his name like _that_. It was all “O, high one” and bows and praises, usually.

He liked this Aziraphale, so far.

‘Never mind. I’ve never seen you here before,’ he noted.

‘Oh, my duties hardly take me here,’ said Aziraphale, ‘but they did now, and Sachiel said it was nice. The sea that is. So I went over here and sat down.’ Something akin to worry passed across his face. ‘Oh dear, I’m not intruding, am I?’

‘No,’ Raphael smiled. ‘ _Do_ you think the sea is nice?’

‘I suppose it is, yes. Very calming, and wonderful just like all of Their creations.’

Raphael leant closer to his side and used his right hand to point at the water. ‘You know you can swim in it too, right? That’s what it’s _for_.’

‘Perhaps some other time. I’ve never…’

‘What?’ he prodded.

‘Talked to an Archangel before. Personally,’ Aziraphale replied, shuffling. ‘I only saw you and your siblings in the Hall of Creation and the Throne Chamber a few times, but you don’t usually come out and talk to us, no—no offence, Raphael.’

‘Nah, ‘s fine,’ he waved him off. ‘Strictly among us, they’re too busy to bother, but I like meeting new angels, talking to the children, you know, seeing the world from their perspective. Just because God didn’t create them to be as important as us, it doesn’t mean they aren’t.’

He knew each of his Virtues by name, too, and where their quarters were[5] and what they liked to do outside of work—which they didn’t have much of yet, seeing as no beings who would need their guidance inhabited the Universe yet. They were merely learning and preparing for when they _would_ , and helping him with the blueprints, which he then presented to God.

Aziraphale contemplated those words, looking as if he wasn’t sure about the last bit. He sat silently for a while and avoided looking at him. He smoothed the creases on his tunic.

‘If it’s not too forward of me, may I ask—is the Almighty really planning to create more beings that will, err, have a finite existence and then come to live here with us when that existence… ceases?’ he asked for a while, still looking at the sea. ‘I heard something from Kerubiel.’

‘Oh, yeah, it’s a whole project,’ Raphael answered proudly. He was consulting on that too, and he thought it was a splendid idea the Almighty had. ‘They’ll make more space for them here. And Rae-Rae—Azrael, that is, will be in charge of… death, I believe it’s called. Uriel will be welcoming the beings here. And so on.’

Aziraphale nodded. Then he turned to him. ‘And where will they be in the meantime?’

‘All the planets we’re building, naturally[6],’ he grinned. ‘Not for a while yet though. That’s why it’s not public knowledge yet, so shh.’ He put a finger to his lips, still stretched in a smile.

Aziraphale bit his lip. ‘What if someone asks me about it though?’

‘Well, then you’ll have to tell them, won’t you.’

Lies also hadn’t been invented yet. Secrets, however, were a different matter. God was getting particularly fond of those lately, despite all the projects, and Raphael didn’t like thinking about that. It would usually lead to Questions, big capital-Q Questions, and angels weren’t supposed to ask capital-Q Questions. God was absolute and absolutely perfect. There was no questioning His authority.

Aziraphale giggled, and Raphael forgot all about that. But it quickly morphed into worry again. ‘Deary me, this is very unlike myself, I shouldn’t have—I might get into trouble!’

‘You said you heard something from Kerubiel,’ Raphael pointed out. ‘Did the whole choir hear it, or just you?’

‘Those of us who were noting down the records. We had to note the thought down.’

‘Well, I told my choir too, didn’t I? You’ve got nothing to worry about then. The Almighty knows about everything, so obviously, He knows about us knowing too.’ His wing reached out in a calming touch. ‘You work in the Archives[7] then?’

‘I do, yes. Recording things.’ For a moment, he held Raphael’s gaze. He soon decided the empty space beyond the sea was more interesting to look at, again, and Raphael thought that was a pity. Aziraphale truly had beautiful eyes. ‘It appears there may be some changes though. Not to speculate, of course.’

‘Of course. God’s will will be presented to us soon,’ Raphael agreed, staring at the same empty space. He’s been wondering about changes too, however.

They sat in silence again, until Aziraphale said, ‘Thank you, Raphael.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

‘For reassuring me. And talking to me,’ he said kindly. ‘I should return to the Archives now, if you will excuse me.’

‘‘Course. I’m contemplating taking a swim, myself. Uriel can be a handful, and ever since Gabriel started courting Jehoel, you know, the short one with the Holy Fire business, being around him hasn’t been easy either. I like the solitude of this place[8].’

‘Don’t let me interrupt your solitude any further then,’ Aziraphale said with another polite smile. He got up, gave him a nod, and stepped from under the trees so he could stretch out his wings and take off.

‘I hope we can talk again,’ Raphael said before he did so. Aziraphale turned his head to face him, wings already poised to take flight.

‘I hope so as well,’ he replied. ‘And now I know you like to come here.’

‘I mean, we even have a bit of a similar name,’ Raphael continued. His mouth had a bit of a mind of its own sometimes. He was hoping it wouldn’t make a habit of it too often and get _him_ into trouble. ‘It’s funny we haven’t met before.’

‘We do, don’t we?’ Aziraphale observed. His wings relaxed.

‘I wonder if the Almighty means something by that,’ Raphael said, thinking out loud. _Aziraphale_ , that _was_ suspiciously close to _Aziraphael_ , and _that_ was suspiciously close to his own name. He was only stating facts here.

‘Well. Until the next time then,’ Aziraphale said before finally taking off. Probably for the best that he did. Raphael stared after him with a faint smile on his lips, and as soon as he was gone, he stripped off his tunic and plunged into the sea.

* * *

1 And because the laws of physics weren’t invented yet.[✿]

2 There were no waves, because there was no wind to create them. It was a perfectly still body of water that almost looked solid, and there was no life in it, not even rocks. Just a lot of hydrogen and oxygen molecules that were mashed together so closely they made something nice to look at but not closely enough to make it compact and stable.[✿]

3 One might perhaps notice that when he met him again many, many years later as Crawly, he, unlike Aziraphale, didn’t ask for his name…[✿]

4 The leader of the Cherubim. They were all light, fire, and thousands of eyes. They spewed fire every time they spoke, which could be a bit inconvenient sometimes, but at least flammable objects weren’t invented yet, so the fire simply went out after a few seconds; no harm done. But their bedside manner could certainly be worked on.[✿]

5 The Silver City _was_ a city. Everyone had a flat somewhere.[✿]

6 There weren’t—wouldn’t be, in the future—only humans out there, despite what they might think.

It _was_ a big universe. They usually didn’t tend to meet the other inhabitants when on Earth, the case of Newt Pulsifer and one flying saucer on the way to Tadfield excluded. Heaven and Hell were another case. They existed outside the universe, and everyone, human or non-human, wound up there after death. Different species were usually separated from each other, but it wasn’t unheard of to run into, say, a Martian or a Gallifreyan somewhere in the Silver City.[✿]

7 Other than chanting praises and guarding and protecting various places across Heaven and the Universe—and before there even were places to guard and protect—the Cherubim’s task was to keep records of everything that happened everywhere, from the Big Bang to the very end.[✿]

8 Sometimes he ventured to the busier parts of the City and talked to the new angels, showed them wonders, got to know them. Sometimes, particularly after having just popped a planet into existence with his dear siblings, he liked that moment of peace. They weren’t mutually exclusive things to enjoy doing.[✿]


	34. Welcome Back Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, sorry this took so long, but the end of May/beginning of June is really hectic for me. Everything is due and I sit two or three exams every week, and that hasn't changed even now. IDK when the next chapter will be up, but hopefully next week!
> 
> Secondly, this one's a bit sexy again and mostly just 3k of feelings and banter. There _will_ be more plot though—because if someone perhaps thought that was it, it's not :)

‘We’ve met before.’

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, one hand still on the front door. The angel was hovering in the sitting room doorway, eyes wide and almost probing. He was looking at him as if he was seeing a ghost where one wasn’t supposed to be[1], and Crowley didn’t like it. He said, ‘I reckon we must’ve, yeah, since we live together and all. What’s this about?’

This wasn’t what he imagined his return to be like, exactly.

‘No, I mean. _Before_ ,’ Aziraphale said once more, with feeling. He carefully walked up to him.

Crowley felt a familiar presence brush at his mind in the process. He opened up to it—to _Aziraphale_. The next second, he was looking at bits of an ancient memory, flashes of the endless sea in the Silver City and his own—his own bloody _face_ , with the golden snake and green bloody eyes.

He also knew that Aziraphale didn’t _mean_ to do it. It was a strong thought.

 _I’m sorry if this is an unpleasant experience, but I can’t exactly stop thinking about it if we’re both thinking about it_ , said his voice in his head, sensing the uneasiness inside him, and Crowley realised he was adding bits of his own to that memory. Thoughts were contagious and hard to get rid of once you got them.

He cleared his throat and tried to focus on literally anything else. The reason for this sudden epiphany, for one. ‘Erm. Did you remember this just now or has it always been there? ‘Cos I kind of assumed that you…’ He jerked his head in a vague gesture.

‘No, I remembered, Crowley, or at least I was _aware_ that I had met Raphael—you, that is, once, a long time ago,’ he confessed. _Deary me, that’s still a bit strange to get used to, isn’t it?_ His mind supplied. ‘It was all a bit… vague on the details, as it were, and I didn’t immediately recall the meeting when you told me who you’d—but I could remember your face now. I remember it more clearly[2].’

‘Right.’ Crowley looked back at the monologue he’s just delivered on the beach and what it might _really_ mean. He finally closed the door all the way and toed off his shoes. Then he noticed that he was still holding the staff, which Aziraphale was paying a little too much attention to, actually, and sent it back into its pocket dimension.

He knew about its existence from the telepathic talks they’d had when he’d been in Hell, naturally, but seeing it in person was another thing entirely. A thing for the days to come.

‘Suppose it makes sense,’ he continued. ‘You always said that you remembered, but knowing that no one remembered _me_ , it makes sense that you wouldn’t, only as a fact. But now you do.’

‘Now I do,’ Aziraphale agreed. Crowley was a tiny bit impressed that he made sense of that _sentence_. There was a heavy pause before the angel asked, ‘Crowley, what did you do?’

He didn’t listen, then.

‘Assumed that you forgot about one meaningless conversation we’ve had in Heaven and never brought it up from Eden onwards, for one,’ he quipped. Aziraphale gave him a Look, one that suggested he better get to the point if he didn’t want Aziraphale finding out by looking at his thoughts. ‘Nhn. A good ol’ fashioned confession?’

‘You talked to…’ Aziraphale cast a meaningful glance at the ceiling. ‘On the beach right now?’

‘Talked to, monologued at, same thing.’ He took a deep breath and suspected a lot of uncalled-for irritation radiating from his being. ‘Listen. I’d rather not talk about it right now. Nothing Hell-related, God-related, you probably being right about the nightmare after all-related—you get the gist. I might explain if I feel like it later, but now I need a fucking _break_.’ 

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and gave him the smallest of his sympathetic smiles. It was more comforting than he remembered it being.

Crowley licked his lips. He changed the subject. ‘And I’d very much like to continue where we left off if you’re. Amenable.’

Aziraphale stepped even closer and cupped Crowley’s face in his hands. They were warm. There was nothing warm in Hell except for the coffee and literal Hellfire. ‘I’m terribly sorry about that. Don’t know what came over me,’ he said, a little bit embarrassed. Adorably so. ‘Welcome back home. And what do you think, darling; one _must_ make up for two weeks of lost time.’

‘Try twenty million[3],’ Crowley said, seeing as the Heaven conversation has already been brought up. Aziraphale cut off anything else he might’ve said with a kiss.

Now _this_ was more like a reunion.

It was hardly the first time since the bonding, but Crowley still gasped at the intense contact of lips and _minds_. There was him, kissing Aziraphale back and pulling him closer by the fabric of his shirt. There was Aziraphale, running a hand through the hair on the back of his neck like he always did. There was the feeling of Aziraphale kissing him from _Aziraphale’s_ point of view, too, and invisible and yet incredibly bright light all around his body and essence—

Aziraphale whimpered into his mouth and Crowley pushed deeper, reaching for him with his tongue and his dark, immaterial wings. Aziraphale’s light stroked him back. It sent a jolt through Crowley’s core, like when you poke at the power socket despite being told you shouldn’t, ever, and knowing that it would _hurt_ and the socket pokes back, and it’s a _very_ incompatible energy but it also feels very, very _good_ because you were actually _meant_ to do that.

 _Our names_ , Aziraphale sent, interrupting his thoughts. A part of his brain was thinking of that memory again. _I know you don’t use that one anymore, but didn’t you say something about their suspicious similarity? What if we’re actually not **incompatible** , you see, but rather something more…_

 _Soulmate-y? Don’t be daft_ , Crowley whispered against his mind. He pressed kisses along his jaw, his neck. He was seeing younger, leaner Aziraphale[4] in his white tunic despite his best efforts. _The fact that God allowed angels to bond doesn’t mean that it was a part of the original design, fairy tale stuff like that._

 _Well, it was **you** who said it, Crowley, _Aziraphale pointed out. He let out another whimper as Crowley moved to untuck his shirt from his trousers and found his lips again.

 _I say lots of stuff. Also, we’re **not** incompatible. We’ve tested that. Thoroughly. _There was a wink hidden in there.

_Maybe it’s why we aren’t. Angel, demon… we know enough about the nature of coincidences to say that us meeting over and over despite all odds wasn’t one. And we did end up here, in the end, bound in the most sacred union **despite** our nature. Fall or no Fall, this is—oh, Heavens, don’t stop doing that—this is transcendental._

_Fall or no Fall_ , Crowley echoed back to him. He didn’t stop caressing his wings with his own outside the material plane. _Exactly._

Aziraphale squeezed his hips and manoeuvred him against the wall. Crowley’s wings stretched flat against it, held by Aziraphale’s. Still immaterial, they didn’t knock off any of the framed paintings. It was _his_ collarbone that was getting all the attention now, and the kisses the blinding light left on his dark[5] soul felt a thousand times _better_.

‘Upstairs?’ he croaked. The soft _mmm_ he got in response was enough for him to take them straight into the bedroom, no unnecessary stair-climbing needed.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened for a second there when he realised that they’d moved, but the momentary bewilderment quickly gave way to a complacent smile that Crowley identified with moments of Plotting But Being Coy About It.

‘Oh, I missed you too, my darling,’ he said. ‘And I do hope no frustratingly rude siblings will show up in the next few days, because I’d quite like to have you all to myself now.’

There were layers to that thought, mostly fear and the urge to flee into the safety of the good old days and their rules. And to defend. Aziraphale had always worried about being discovered, and even more so about losing Crowley, which Crowley pretended not to know but knew all too well anyway. He had played into their little routines and hoped that there would be a day they could _stop_. They did after Armageddon had failed to occur, small step by small step, though the anxiety was still there. And then they _were_ discovered. Aziraphale was having a tough time those first few days of Crowley’s return to Hell, despite all of Crowley’s assurances.

Aziraphale also wanted to hold him close and preferably naked, and Crowley was all for that.

They both had things to forget.

‘Yep, so would I…’ Crowley muttered, and found himself guided towards the bed. He sat down and pulled off his t-shirt, which he subsequently tossed aside. Aziraphale tutted at that, as he always did when Crowley left something just lying around, but this time he could _hear_ Crowley’s exasperated _every bloody time_ and _just leave it_. He quirked his mouth in amusement and joined Crowley on the bed.

‘Told you you’d have to deal with that for eternity, didn’t I.’ Backwards, Crowley scrambled onto the pillows. He held Aziraphale’s gaze. ‘Me pointing out in my head how annoying you are sometimes.’

‘You’re not any less annoying, dear boy,’ Aziraphale said, hovering above him. ‘We know each other too well. But we still put up with each other, Mother knows why.’

Crowley reached up to kiss him. It was very rude of him to say that—but then again, he wasn’t wrong. Although, one could theorise it was the thousands of years of shared experience and little games and late-night conversations. Also, their lips just fitted together perfectly.

(Alright, yes, he _knew_ what he’d said in Heaven, but he didn’t want to add _that_ to the pile of not-so-newly discovered things that urgently needed thinking about. Not yet.)

Aziraphale pressed a feather-light kiss on the top of his nose and moved lower, to his Adam’s apple and his shoulder and, _oh_ , his tongue could _always_ do wonders with his nipples[6]. Crowley sneaked a hand under his shirt and said, ‘Each other is all we’ve ever had, eh, angel? Ehh, I mean, we’ve had a few rough patches, the whole hereditary enemies thing, but who else would be there in the end?’

Aziraphale sent him a look full of adoration. _Love_. Crowley could sense that now, all those— _things._ Virtues and positive emotions[7]. ‘It would be terribly hard not to fall in love, I think,’ Aziraphale said, lips grazing against his ribcage. ‘ _Because_ , or maybe _in spite of_ who we are.’

He pressed a knee between Crowley’s legs and his light into his being, and Crowley very nearly saw stars. ‘Let me see your wings, my dear. All of them.’

Crowley willed all four to pop into the material plane, careful not to knock down the lamp and the stack of books on Aziraphale’s bedside table. He didn’t need to read his mind to feel the awe radiating from him as he gently teased the feathers with the palm of his hand. _Beautiful_ , said his eyes. _You’re beautiful_.

‘You can. Groom them for me after,’ he said, voice low. ‘I know you’re thinking about it.’

Since the Reveal Moment, he hasn’t shown his primary wings to him, let alone let him do—that[8]. But it’s been so bloody long; he forgot what someone else’s fingers touching them felt like. Aziraphale knew that, or he wouldn’t have asked. He almost _ached_ for it.

And for getting rid of those _very_ tight jeans, too.

‘That would be lovely,’ Aziraphale said. He lifted himself up and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Crowley’s eyes watched for every bit of revealed skin. ‘Because I’ve got a feeling that they’re going to get awfully messy. Wouldn’t be good to keep them in such a state, without proper grooming.’

Uncharacteristically enough, he dropped the shirt onto the floor.

‘Same goes for you, I suspect. Angels, can’t keep your wings up to snuff. Positively horrible.’

Aziraphale’s wings flapped out.

‘I do believe you’re right,’ he said. He ran a hand along Crowley’s thigh and pressed a palm against his hardening cock. His ethereal form seeped into his core and whirled around him. ‘Now, what was that? Complaining about those dreadful trousers? You’re the one who keeps insisting on putting them on, darling.’

Crowley let out a few unintelligible syllables and undid his belt buckle with a _just help me get out of them, please, angel_.

His right wings reached up and brushed against Aziraphale’s left one. His dark light pushed back and made another one of those delightful sounds escape Aziraphale’s mouth. Aziraphale bent down to catch his mouth in another kiss and unzipped the jeans with one hand. The other one was busy with Crowley’s hair.

 _Do that again_ , he said in his head.

 _This?_ he asked, and forced all of his metaphysical being to practically merge with Aziraphale’s form. Chills travelled down his spine, all the way to his cock.

_Oh. Oh, yes. That’s—_

_Bloody fantastic._ His physical body was still kissing him, deep and needy. Beyond it, their energies were _crackling_ , mixing together, and tugging at each other, the small pieces of each other within them, and it was _something fucking else_.

 _Is this what it’s always going to be like now?_ Aziraphale asked. Hoped.

_I think so, yeah. And we’ve got forever to practise._

_Oh, dear Lord._

_Yup. Though I’d rather that stayed out of the bedroom, considering…_

‘Don’t worry, darling, you’ll forget even your own name come morning,’ Aziraphale said out loud. Crowley would swear the spark in his eyes was positively demonic.

‘I’m counting on it,’ he choked out. Aziraphale finally pushed his jeans and pants down and helped him peel them off. It was unnatural, the way Crowley could feel his eyes on him from at least three different angles including seeing himself from _Aziraphale’s_ eyes, but it was also incredibly arousing and dear Satan, wasn’t that something to find out.

And—his name was all the trouble lately, wasn’t it? Aziraphale knew that. He knew exactly what he needed.

‘Of course I do,’ Aziraphale replied. ‘Besides, I can always dive into your mind. Isn’t that _exciting_?’ He all but wiggled on all planes of existence. His wings reached for Crowley’s again.

‘Should’ve known this would turn you into even more of a kinky bastard,’ Crowley said, smiling mischievously. His smaller left wing caressed his side. ‘It’s always the quiet ones.’

‘There is no need to be so crass.’ He ran his fingers along his shaft. Crowley let out a groan. ‘Birds of a feather, my dear.’

‘I meant it when I said you’d be the death of me, angel,’ he drawled.

‘I’d rather not. As for a bit of a little death, however…’ He gave him a tug, a playful smile on his lips.

‘Yep, all in. ‘S basically our wedding night.’

As far as human wedding traditions went, this one was certainly his favourite, along with the kiss and—well, that one was still Aziraphale’s area more than it was his—the cake[9].

‘Well. I’d better dispose of these then, hadn’t I?’ Aziraphale glanced at his trousers, which were, pitifully, still on. Then he snapped his fingers and quickly did away with them, along with his socks and underwear.

‘That’s cheating!’ cried Crowley, faux-affronted. His angel was _gorgeous_.

‘I may have cleaned away the shirts and trousers on the floor as well,’ he admitted, but of course, Crowley already knew that he did. Ridiculous. He didn’t want him to change one bit.

He used his wings to pull him on top of himself. In his ear, he whispered, ‘I want you inside me. In both senses applicable.’ He pressed a quick kiss there.

Lips brushed against his shoulder. ‘Oh, there’s time for that yet, darling. Patience is a—’

‘Don’t say virtue. Not _now_. I’ve _led_ the Virtues; they were bloody _tedious_ most of the time.’

Aziraphale smiled against his neck and said, ‘It’s good that you’re starting to make jokes about it. Must’ve been quite the talk.’ His breath was warm against Crowley’s skin.

Crowley’s hand slid over the curve of his back and gave his arse a squeeze. He rocked his hips underneath him. ‘Shut the fuck up, Aziraphale. You promised me something.’

‘That I did. Let’s find out just how mind-blowing this can be, shall we, dearest?’ Aziraphale kissed the corner of Crowley’s mouth and pressed their foreheads together. Then his mind plunged into him and the world beyond this bed ceased to exist.

* * *

1 Ghosts were not an uncommon sight for angels. Humans couldn’t usually see them, but Earth was full of wandering souls who didn’t move on and go straight to Heaven or Hell. Angels, as well as demons, were often sent to retrieve these souls. Aziraphale had despatched one from his future bookshop in 1792, for one. But there was still a difference between seeing a ghost you expected to see and one who ran into you when you were carrying two shopping bags and rounding a corner.[✿]

2 Even infinite beings had limited memory, and something that happened such a long time ago wasn’t something one thought about every day, or even every millennium— _especially_ when the memory hadn’t connected to Crowley in Aziraphale’s mind. He knew that it had been Crowley now, but the fact that he hadn’t _actively_ known Raphael meant he didn’t realise he didn’t remember him and, thus, lived his post-Fall life thinking he had _all_ the memories. He simply didn’t pay attention to this, and so it took its sweet time to resurface.

Even so, that was the mere train of thought going _hold on, I think I’d met Raphael once, and if **you** are Raphael, that means I’d met you! _It was an observation, a faceless fact. It hit him sometime during Crowley’s second week in Hell. Now that he had the _full_ experience to go with it, however…[✿]

3 Technically, it was both more and less than that. Earth was 6,023 years old, yes, but it was the _youngest_ planet, the final experiment. Others were created and populated long before that. Lucifer might’ve exaggerated when he said he’d spent billions of years ruling Hell, but Heaven and Hell have existed for a long time regardless, populated by non-human souls at first. And before there was any kind of time, there was still existence, and God, being omnipresent and omnipotent, could easily backdate that existence. It all counted up to about half a billion years. [✿]

4 He _had_ once been a “lean, lean fighting machine”, as Gabriel had put it, but really, it was just a corporation, what was the fuss about? He liked being comfortable and eating delicious food. Neither he nor Crowley gave a toss about his shape, for certain. And as for age, he didn’t actually _look_ much younger; it was just that he _was_.[✿]

5 Well, darkish.[✿]

6 And other places. Honestly, if Crowley had thought that watching him eat was an experience, he’d known _nothing_ about what that mouth could do.[✿]

7 Maybe it was the bond with an angel, maybe it wasn’t entirely that… but he now knew what Aziraphale had meant by feeling that a place was loved. Just as he sensed sins and negative emotions emanating from people all around him, he could sense the good feelings too. And it was no different for Aziraphale, of course, who found himself detecting malicious intents and Sins in people. It was quite the shock the one time he left the house to take a bus to the city because he’d run out of food to nibble on.[✿]

8 Trusting another being to groom one’s wings was one of the most intimate acts an angel or demon could do, even more so than sex. They didn’t even do that until this January. His primary wings were a tad touchier subject—but who was there to trust more than Aziraphale?

Also, getting their wings out in bed wasn’t new. They always needed a bit of smoothing after.[✿]

9 They also talked about rings on one of the quieter nights in Hell. They had yet to decide on the subject, but Crowley liked the idea of rings as a symbol of commitment that told everyone, _look, he’s mine_.[✿]


	35. Truth and Consequences

There was a short answer and a long answer to that question. The long answer took about four hours and went into an astounding amount of detail that would probably be best to keep between themselves and the Lord Almighty, provided the omnipresence and omniscience went even there, which both Crowley and Aziraphale rather hoped it didn’t. The astral plane was _shaken_.

The short answer was _amazingly, magnificently, divinely bloody mind-blowing_. Quite literally too, because when you’re a being who can project their consciousness out of their body and into a plane outside of time or space where all you feel is your essence, your true form, intermingling and mixing with another’s, beyond atoms and the confines of flesh, your mind can be effectively blown out—if not quite blown _up_.

Crowley didn’t understand how the heavens Gabriel and Beelzebub could have spent millions of years apart when they could have been doing _this_ [1], because he never, ever wanted to be separated from Aziraphale again. He wouldn’t even leave this bed for the next few months if he could.

Well, he _could_ , technically, but there were still limits to their somewhat amalgamated occult and ethereal powers. Plus, Crowley didn’t want to see his garden wilt and die, and the neighbours—as much as they really had any this far from the village proper—would _talk_.

It was nearly sunrise.

‘Maybe we were made for each other,’ he said, returning to a conversation from hours ago. ‘Maybe not. I don’t think we’ll ever know, though. And y’know what? It doesn’t even bloody—ah—matter.’

Aziraphale’s plump, skilled fingers went on grazing against the ruffled and twisted feathers on his left primary wing and doing a careful job of straightening each one of them. An hour in, he was nearly finished with him, and Crowley was _this_ close to finishing for the fourth? fifth? time that night[2].

Heavy-lidded and failing to grasp their mutual _abundance_ of restraint, he slowly rocked his hips against Aziraphale, sliding up and down his cock. Aziraphale jerked against him, and his hands raked through his feathers. It was impressive how focused on the task he was, given the situation.

Crowley’s body, corporeal and non-corporeal alike, felt like it was on fire. The good kind.

See, wings were _sensitive_. Awfully so. As they lay on the bed in the light of a nightstand lamp, thoroughly spent and breathing a little too hard for beings who didn’t need to breathe at all, Aziraphale remembered Crowley’s promise. _You can groom them for me after, if you want_. They were terribly tousled, true enough.

The best way to go about that, they agreed, was grooming their wings mutually. They sat on the bed facing each other and went through the whole wing-care routine—but did Crowley mention that wings were bloody sensitive? He was basically made of shivers at that point, and feeling Aziraphale’s thoughts and feelings at the back of his mind because of the bond wasn’t exactly helping, so naturally, a lovely pair of erections presented itself _again_.

Aziraphale folded his wings away as soon as Crowley was done with them and lay back on the bed. ‘Think you can take me again as I do the rest of your wings, darling?’ he said, looking at him with more love and excitation in his eyes than Crowley knew how to process. He was drowsy but also incredibly hard and still nicely stretched out from earlier; he told all inconvenient pain to go bother someone else and shifted into the angel’s lap.

With a small lube-involving miracle, he slowly slid onto his cock.

‘Nice and slow,’ Aziraphale said, bringing his hands to Crowley’s face. He pressed a kiss against his forehead. ‘Nice and slow, my dear.’

‘I suppose it’s…’ he was saying now, and a moan escaped his lips when Crowley rolled against him again.

‘Don’t say it,’ he panted. ‘Just don’t.’

Aziraphale touched the base of his wing, and a particularly thorough shiver shot down his body. His leaking cock felt a mighty jolt and longed to be touched, to be finally pushed over the edge, but Aziraphale’s hands were occupied elsewhere. He wouldn’t give him this until his wings were as good as new. Bastard.

He was close too—Crowley knew that as well as he knew his own body. But even under Crowley’s demonic influence, he lost none of his infuriatingly endearing constraint, developed throughout centuries upon centuries of clandestine meetings and not so much as giving one’s beloved demon a kiss on the cheek when all he wanted to do was take him back to his room at the inn, hotel, bookshop and make love to him, or take him apart, or both on the same night.

This was one of those nights.

The tip of Crowley’s finger lightly circled Aziraphale’s nipple. He keened under him again, and Crowley couldn’t help but flash him a grin. ‘‘M just saying, angel, that none of that stuff matters anymore. Not the band Upstairs and definitely not the band _Downstairs_. We matter. Earth matters. Not them. An’ I made peace with that.’

He pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger—and on the metaphysical plane, he lurched forward and met his essence with a kiss. The fire inside him burnt brighter. Aziraphale thrust harder and deeper into him, and Crowley picked up the pace just a little. He was almost done with the wings anyway.

‘Quite right, Crowley,’ he said, a little breathless again. ‘It took me so long to understand, I’m sorry—but you’re. Quite right.’

‘You might’ve been right too,’ he muttered, throwing his head back. Aziraphale hit just the right spot. ‘About the—hnng, _fuck_ , Aziraphale.’

_About the memories. Think it might’ve been me. On the beach, I said I wasn’t hiding anymore. And then the first thing you said was that you remembered. I don’t know why or what it is or if the others remember too, but I did that. I did **something**. And I understood. And for somebody’s sake, please tell me that was the last feather. _

‘No,’ said Aziraphale, out loud. He gave his wing another careful tug, and another, and another, all the while slowly thrusting into him, and Crowley didn’t think he could last much longer. And Aziraphale didn’t even _touch him_ , for crying out loud.

‘But this one was,’ he said then, with effort. He ran his hands along the edge of his wings. They shuddered under the touch. Crowley cried out loud. ‘Beautiful. My darling.’

His wings felt absolutely wonderful, don’t get him wrong, but the fact that they were freshly preened and practically gleamed with love wasn’t his top priority right now. He folded them away. Aziraphale’s hands travelled down his spine, onto his hips.

He held him tight and flipped them around as if Crowley weighed absolutely nothing.

He found Crowley’s hands, which didn’t expect this and found themselves in weird positions, and laced their fingers together, bringing them up and holding them down on the pillow. Knowing, _feeling_ that Crowley wasn’t just giving him permission but _needing it_ , he slammed into him harder.

The bed creaked; their hearts slammed against their chests and their skin against each other. With a few more thrusts and a simple but overwhelming message of a _feeling_ , he finally tipped Crowley over the edge. Aziraphale captured his open mouth in a sloppy kiss, and Crowley let a muffled cry escape into his mouth. He was _gasping_. The grip he had on Aziraphale’s hands could shatter a _rock_ , he was sure.

He spilt on his stomach, and Aziraphale followed quickly after, filling him with his angelic essence.

They slowly rode out their orgasms. The fire was subsiding. If it was Holy Fire or Hellfire he didn’t know, but it felt pretty damn glorious.

‘I’ve just made you cum without once touching you,’ Aziraphale whispered. His breath was hot and ticklish against his ear.

‘I love you,’ said Crowley. He _meant it_ , just like he’d meant all those things he’d said on the beach. ‘I love you.’

‘I know,’ Aziraphale smiled against his cheek[3]. ‘You’re shining brighter than the sun.’

Crowley let out a long, throaty noise at that. The sun was, in fact, letting itself known behind the curtains. ‘Don’t be like that,’ he drawled. His heart was still being very loud in his chest, and he could hear Aziraphale’s almost as well as his own. ‘We should also probably…’

Aziraphale disentangled himself from Crowley and carefully pulled out of him. He miracled all the messy fluids and plucked feathers away. Then he lay down next to Crowley and mentally beckoned for him to _snuggle up closer_ , as his exact words went. Crowley did, and Aziraphale ran a hand through his—also tousled—hair.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ he asked slowly and carefully.

‘I—’ The words got stuck in his throat. Aziraphale’s lightness—which _also_ shone brighter than the sun, for the record—enveloped him like the blanket that ended up somewhere on the floor around 1 a.m. and never came back. ‘I guess I finally let go of the past, angel.’

‘Told you. You’re not unforgivable. No one is, as long as they _try_. And I think you just took the first—no, you took the _leap_ , Crowley, and I’m very much proud of you. And hush, I know what you’re thinking. It’s true. I love you, and I’m proud of you, you silly demon. Now rest. I promise not to wake you before nine[4].’

Crowley _was_ tired. And worn out. And tired. He _yawned_ , as if his tiredness wanted to demonstrate its point.

Aziraphale yawned too—and now _that_ was something that hasn’t happened before. ‘I caught that from you,’ he explained. ‘It’s not all the good things.’

‘Sleeping’s great,’ he managed to mumble against his chest before his body slumped and slumber took him. _It’s great. You’ll see._

When he woke up, the sun was shining right into his face—or would be, if he weren’t lying on his belly and facing Aziraphale on his left—and something inside him felt _different_. It was a vague half-thought that occurred somewhere at the back of his mind and didn’t have the strength to fight its way into the forefront of his waking and not-so-conscious consciousness yet, but there was _something_ nagging at him that he couldn’t quite parse.

He ignored it and felt for Aziraphale. The angel was still in bed but obviously awake, because he caught his hand and pressed a kiss on his knuckles.

Crowley could feel a certain degree of uneasiness radiating from his as well, and the thought became a bit more prominent all of a sudden. He slowly opened his eyes.

Aziraphale gasped, dramatically.

‘Wha’,’ Crowley not quite asked.

‘Your—eyes,’ he said. Crowley blinked and stared at Aziraphale’s eyes, flicking from spot to spot and unable to settle. An image made its way into his mind, the same as last night: himself, but with emerald-green and certainly not snake-y eyes. He groaned. He didn’t need to be reminded of that again.

‘No, Crowley, it’s not a _memory_ ,’ he said, biting his lip. He wasn’t breathing. Crowley wasn’t either, because—what? And because he saw it, his face lying on the very same pillow and his hair not being exactly long but not really short either and a definite mess.

‘They’re green. Now. They’re green _now_.’

* * *

1 Well, it might have been the strict policy of Heaven and Hell and all the mutual hatred between the two sides, from which _especially_ an Archangel and a Prince of Hell were not exempt.[✿]

2 Unnecessary refractory periods were unnecessary when you were two supernatural beings who could shape and order your bodies around any way you liked.[✿]

3 Aziraphale had watched the original _Star Wars_ trilogy in 1986. With Crowley, naturally. He did remember this particular line and used it on purpose once or twice already.[✿]

4 Which wasn’t much, given it was after five.[✿]


	36. Long Lost

Beelzebub’s duties didn’t allow her to leave Hell at the moment.

That, of course, didn’t rule out the possibility of sneaking a moment of relative peace and quiet in between election preparations and informing Gabriel about the current state of Hell’s affairs, as he’d firmly insisted a few days ago. Sometimes, having a telepathic channel to the leader of the opposition really proved to be an advantage—and he wasn’t just talking about the sex.

As it happened, he was swimming laps in one of Silver City’s many pools and showing off in front of lesser angels when he felt her mind and rather alarming amounts of irritation pushing their way into his head. That was good; it meant he wouldn’t be watched too closely or have to excuse himself. He did a flip turn when he reached the end of the pool and asked, _how’s it going down in the Pit?_

There was a mental grin there. She didn’t find it amusing.

 _Crowley’s finally taken off_ , she said. _For someone who didn’t want to be seen in this company, he was getting awfully cosy bossing everyone around on Lucifer’s left. And the worst bloody thing is that this was the most competent he’s been since the Original Sin; he actually helped us whip this new constitution up really fast. Ugh._

 _So you’ve said_ , Gabriel remarked. _So you’re done then? As in I-should-report-my-wonderful-idea-as-a-success-to-my-siblings done?_

 _Fucking Archangels. They get one sensible idea and they’re more full of themselves than the sea is of water_ , she scoffed. _Or that pool._

 _Appreciate the view?_ he asked, smug. He turned again and switched from front crawl to backstroke. He purposefully ignored the other part of that statement.

 _I hate seeing the Silver City and you know that,_ she grumbled, catching a glimpse of the same sky and the same buildings he saw[1]. _But yes, if your wanker siblings really **must** know, go ahead, tell them everyone’s still miserable but in a more organised way and no one’s planning to overthrow the King anymore, as far as we know. We took care of those who still tried._

 _Good, that’s good_ , he nodded thoughtfully, in his head. Something about fewer filthy demons to worry about wormed into his thoughts as well. _Didn’t we say that you’d figure it out and that convincing Crowley would be the best option for everyone?_

Beelzebub huffed. She didn’t comment on it. Gabriel was vaguely aware of her hands playing with one of those odd bendy pencils. She said, _Speaking of that serpent… you know the cult that I mentioned? Well guess what, he’s found that some of them are former Virtues._

_Yeah, and…?_

She tied the pencil into a knot. _He led them. You-know-who._

 _I know that, yeah, it’s not something you forget,_ he said. All the dry facts recorded in the paperwork were unforgettable indeed; it was the emotions that were missing[2]. _What about it?_

He reached the end of the pool once more.

_Satan, you really are stupid. If they followed him before and they want to follow him now, it means they might remember. Sort of. I don’t really understand it—I wasn’t even meant to hear it—but it probably means something. Since you’ve been wondering about the memory wipe._

_Huh. Interesting. I’ll pass that on._

Virtues. More of them had stayed in Heaven than of any other choir after the Fall. Their leadership had been reassigned, naturally, but they used to be remarkably loyal to Raphael—so no wonder some of them might want to follow him as a demon. Although… it raised questions.

Gabriel, generally, wasn’t in favour of questions. He preferred orders, nice and clear, and following God’s will and making sure others followed it by following _his_ orders. Ever since Armageddon failed to happen, God’s will wasn’t so clear anymore, though. It didn’t bear thinking about.

If anyone asks, he’s never had this thought, but what exactly _was_ the deal with forgetting Raphael but not the other demons?

 _Er. I hate to break it to you, birdbrain, but it doesn’t work like that,_ Beelzebub noted. _And I’m pretty sure that’s not my memory._

Gabriel was confused. _What?_

_You’re thinking about him. Loudly. There’s a face, all Archangelic, but it’s not one of **my** memories. It’s too close for that. Too personal._

Now that she mentioned it—he did see a face. Red hair, green eyes, a golden snake on the side of his cheek, a thin but delighted smile. It was a resurfaced memory that he didn’t know he’d forgotten and ever had in the first place. Even _knowing_ that Raphael’s face was that of that snake Crowley, any and all memories he tried to recall were blurry and hardly lasted longer than a second. Not that he was actively trying to remember or anything; he was otherwise preoccupied and couldn’t care less about any such thing as Fallen siblings[3].

Another image showed up unprompted, this time of their bonding ceremony. They did share this one, obviously, but in the rare moment he dared bring it up, there was always Beelzebub’s angelic face, nothing more. How could he have forgotten that _Raphael had performed the ritual for them?_

 _Better yet, how come you suddenly remember?_ Beelzebub wondered. _You do, don’t you? Also, off with that one or I’ll be sick._

 _Believe me, I share your sentiment,_ he said, not entirely truthful. _But if the ex-Virtues in Hell remember, and **I** remember, did—did something happen? Did he do something? Did God do something? Why **now**?_

The questions all but spilt out of his mind at this point.

_Don’t ask me. But—Lucifer tried to explain Rising to me once. I refused to listen to his bullshit; being a demon is what I’m fucking good at. Hell **is** my life. Committed to it even more now, ain’t I? There was this part though, something about **sacrifice** or some shite, and rethinking your life and choices and accepting love again—and he did bond with that angel and then went and left him to do this despite really, **really** not wanting to. And he talks to Lucifer now. So, I dunno, maybe something happened. But like I said, don’t ask me. _

_No._ Gabriel swam up to the edge of the pool and stopped. He rested against it, running his hands through his wet hair. On the inside, he was certainly less calm than he appeared to the casual observer. _I need to talk to Michael. See if she—if they all. An investigation needs to be carried out._

He blinked and expelled Beelzebub from his thoughts for the moment.

Effortlessly, he lifted himself up and climbed out of the pool. He grabbed his towel[4], neatly folded on a sun lounger, and collected his thoughts as he used it to dry his body. He turned his eyes towards the Palace, at the top of which were God’s private quarters. No one but the Metatron has gone up there for… well, he didn’t even know for how long.

He trusted in God’s plans unconditionally, of course. There was a reason for everything, and it was not the angels’ place to question it, only to acknowledge it and act accordingly. So… there had to be a reason why they hadn’t had any memories of Raphael until now, well after he’d helped botch Armageddon. Which played into Crowley’s _theory_. Gabriel shuddered. He didn’t like it, the possibility of a _demon_ being right. But that demon was also his _brother_ , and the fact that _fond_ memories of that face were coming back now made things a bit more difficult.

Mostly the guilt.

History would’ve played out a _lot_ differently if he and his siblings had known who he’d been the entire time, that much was clear. Even he thought it was an obvious conclusion to make. The implications of it, however…

Gabriel miracled his usual clothes on and transported himself into Michael’s residence simultaneously.

‘Gabriel,’ she said, looking up from her tablet. There was a hint of surprise in her voice.

‘Michael,’ he said, flashing an innocuous grin, and sat on the white sofa under the window. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands around a knee. Michael stared, unblinking, and waited for him to say what was on his mind. ‘I er, remembered something. And I wanted to ask, is it just me, or…?’

‘Remembered something,’ she repeated flatly. ‘Well done.’

‘No, I mean. Raphael.’ Another memory resurfaced, this time one from the very beginning. They were working on a star system in the Andromeda Galaxy, and he was making annoying comments about him and Beelzebub—Jehoel—whoever—and distracting him from work.

They were all Beelzebub-related memories, probably because of the connection. She wasn’t talking to him anymore, but her presence would always be there. And memories of the Fall went hand-in-hand with those. 

‘You—’ Michael didn’t finish that sentence. ‘Oh. Oh my Lord.’

‘Quite.’ Gabriel uncrossed his legs. He gripped the edge of the sofa instead. He was trying _not_ to think of the Fall, but it wasn’t going well. ‘Yesterday, those memories weren’t there.’

She put the translucent tablet down. ‘Interesting. Do you suppose that everyone…’

‘That’s what I came here to ask,’ he said after a brief pause. ‘I don’t think it would matter as such; the ordinary angels didn’t even know him—well, except for the Virtues—so they might not notice, or so I’m hoping. Still. A few million years down the line, everyone suddenly getting their memories of _that_ back isn’t something we need. Not right now.’

‘I agree,’ Michael nodded. She sat back in her chair and stared out of the window. ‘It almost makes one wonder what _is_ She planning.’

‘I’ve had the same thought, actually.’

They shared a Look, charged with horrified realisation and discomfiture. Michael cleared her throat. ‘Will you talk to the others about it?’

‘I’d rather not see Uriel right now,’ he admitted. ‘They’re still mad at me, it’s…’ He let out a long-drawn groan, quite clearly expressing his thoughts on talking to them. It wasn’t unlike the sounds Crowley tended to make. ‘And Amenadiel, phew. I’d _not_ go there.’

‘You’d have to admit that he was right,’ she pointed out. ‘And you hate that, don’t you? Admitting that someone else was right and you may be wrong?’

‘I’m always ri— _point_. Don’t be smug about it,’ he said, raising his index finger in facetious warning.

‘I’m not smug, I’m frankly _shaken_. And Amen _was_ right.’ She took and released a shaky breath. ‘He was kind even when he didn’t remember, which makes him a better angel than you or me. You can blame the lack of memories, Gabriel, but that cloud is _gone_ now, as it seems, and whether it’s the work of the Almighty or not, it’s an opportunity to learn. You and your hypocrisy should know better.’

‘You never held that ag—’

‘I’m not done. The fact that I tolerate your relationship with Beelzebub doesn’t mean I can’t call you out on it. Yes, I’ve got my own backchannels, but I was never secretive about those; you were just too foolish to see. So yes, this is somewhat unfortunate, but it’s a blessing as much as it is a curse. We’ve got memories of our brother back, so clearly someone wants us to have them. They think we’re worthy of having them, and if that isn’t a divine sign, then I don’t know what is.’

She wiped a tear off her cheek.

‘Raphael didn’t abandon us. _We_ kicked him out together with Lucifer and then did our best to pretend it never happened. The missing memories helped that along, I imagine.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Don’t pretend that you aren’t aware of that.’

‘Michael, I—’

‘Oh, spare me. I’ll talk to them and try to figure out what we should do next, perhaps do a bit of praying. I think you should too.’ She gave him a pointed look. Another tear welled up out of her eye. ‘Now get out; I need a moment to think. Alone.’

* * *

1 Gabriel was a busy angel. Most of the time, he was in his office—or _someone’s_ office, anyway—so it was most likely for Beelzebub to reach him there. Sometimes, he’d be in his private residence or, naturally, The House, but investing his time in outdoor activities? That was a rare moment to be caught in. Nonetheless, it happened sometimes, and Beelzebub wasn’t very happy about seeing what she’d once lost again through his eyes. She usually chose to ignore it, but it made maintaining the telepathic connection a tad difficult.[✿]

2 One might even say that emotions were generally missing from all of Heaven because they took a nosedive into pits of boiling sulphur together with the demons and were too scared to return, but that would be unfair to the Third-Sphere guardian angels who were far enough from the management to retain their love and kindness for all beings of the Universe. It was only the highest Sphere’s emotions that did that, over time.[✿]

3 He’s never had this thought either, but it was _painful_.[✿]

4 Dove grey with a lilac wing emblem embroidered in the corner like a monogram.[✿]


	37. Figuring It Out

If there was one thing that everyone in Heaven would tell you about Michael, it was that she didn’t lose her composure and aura of calm, measured demeanour. Ever. She had been a warrior once, and could still beat every single being foolish enough to challenge her to a fencing match, but now she held the position of one of Heaven’s top managers, and certainly the most efficient one. When you wanted something done quickly, you took it to Michael. When you wanted something done unofficially, you took it to Michael as well; she had her methods. She delivered results and didn’t waver for but a second.

Or so was the consensus, anyway.

It didn’t take the singular, unforeseen, and very much private events such as getting back memories of your estranged, Fallen sibling into account.

As soon as Gabriel left, she slouched in her rolling chair and let out a quiet sob, face in her hands and Raphael’s face on her mind. She wouldn’t have even noticed anything was different had he not come there. It wasn’t a sudden rush of images crowding her head or an overwhelming surge of emotions; pieces of ancient memories just gradually came to focus where they couldn’t before.

And yet it was just as startling.

She has known what she had done her entire post-Fall existence. She was an Archangel; she built her life around it. Lucifer and Raphael were rebels and deserved to be cast out with everyone else. She was following divine orders. It was nothing to dwell on. They were both the Enemy, and she wasn’t going to concern herself with any of them any longer, and in any case, the remaining five Archangels had a Heaven to fix and run—or so she’d told herself back then. But back then, she didn’t know she was missing anything. Emotions that might, perhaps, cloud one’s judgement and make one _doubt_ [1].

The more terrifying thing was that the question she’s asked just now was a genuine one. What _was_ God planning?

Almost nothing was the same since the ruined Apocalypse last year. The Great Plan was no more, and uncertainty began to sneak its way into even the most devout minds. And now—this.

You didn’t question Her. That was the fundamental truth. You did what you were told, because if God commanded it, it must be right. Only rebels and traitors asked questions and sought imperfections in God’s perfect design.

Nonetheless, both Gabriel and Michael just did.

It was innocent and meant absolutely nothing; they weren’t _rebellious_ , they believed in following Her unconditionally and basked in Her divine light, grateful for Her love and Her blessings. They loved their Parent. And yet, that simple question came _easily_.

Raphael had only ever been asking questions like that. It almost made one—no. No, those were blasphemous thoughts. Better to wipe the tears away and deal with the situation. She ought to find out whether _everyone_ recalled those memories but without stirring up a commotion or—she shuddered—triggering an avalanche of sudden recollection by asking as stupidly point-blank as Gabriel had. The angels might not _know_ they could remember Raphael even if they did, not unlike herself, and careless inquiries would get them to realise it, which was exactly what Gabriel feared. Mass shifting of perspective. Care and precision were essential.

It was a good thing[2] that that was her domain.

Well, it would probably be best to talk to her siblings first. Uriel had made themself temporarily unavailable two weeks ago, and there would be no point in trying to reach them until they allowed it, so Michael reached into the inner pocket of her jacket instead and took her mobile phone. She wordlessly ordered it to dial Amenadiel.

She wasn’t the Messenger, so there would be no passive-aggressive summons from her, no thank you.

He answered with a mildly surprised, ‘Michael?’

She put on a polite smile he couldn’t see and said, ‘Hi, Amen. I need to talk to you, rather urgently as it is. Are you available?’

‘I’m home with my son. If it’s really urgent, you can come here, or wait for an hour or so. Linda is out with her friends, and I’d rather not bring Charlie to the Silver City.’

She considered this. She wasn’t particularly fond of Earth, least of all America, but this really was quite urgent. And besides, Lucifer was still in Hell, so there was practically no chance of running into him there. _That_ was a whole other thing to unpack, and she’d rather not get into it just yet. Meeting him on that beach had been enough.

(They’d been almost as close as twins, her brain supplied, along with Lucifer-related memories. One of them was of the Battle, and both he and Raphael were there.)

She let out a sigh. ‘Alright. I suppose I haven’t actually…’

‘Met your nephew?’ he said. A smile was audible in his voice.

There was a brief pause. ‘No. I’ll find the place.’

Michael ended the call and walked to the mirror that hung on one of the walls. Her make-up was intact in barely a millisecond’s thought, and in another millisecond, she was standing in what looked like a backyard attached to a regular human house[3]. It was smaller than That Cottage.

Amenadiel walked through a sliding door, having sensed her presence before she could so much as notice the small assortment of flowers growing by the fence or the swing seat near the wall. The Nephil—Charlie—was fastened in a child carrier on his chest. She could see his tiny fledgeling wings sticking out of it on the astral plane of existence, too.

She recalled another memory, from the time they’ve been fledgelings themselves, playing in the vast emptiness of the Pre-Universe times.

‘Welcome, sister,’ Amenadiel said, gesturing at the garden swing. ‘Take a seat. I’ve found it can be very relaxing.’

She decided to trust him on that and didn’t ask how he knew that she _was_ a bit stressed. He sat next to her.

‘And _this_ ,’ he continued with a proud grin, ‘is Charlie. Say hi to your aunt Michael, Charlie!’

The child, incapable of speech, didn’t say hi to her. He did, however, slowly turn his head and send a rather strong wave of Curiosity her way. Humans wouldn’t be able to sense that, nor his clumsily flapping wings. Despite herself, Michael gave him a genuine smile that radiated enough Pleasant Feelings to make him Excited. She almost didn’t remember the whole affair with the Nephilim in the BCs.

‘He kind of likes everyone, but for some reason, the demons are still his favourites.’ Amenadiel shook his head, amused. He used his feet to set the swing in motion. ‘Besides his mom, of course. Do you want to hold him?’

‘Not particularly, if you don’t mind.’ She raised a subtle eyebrow. ‘Demons?’

‘Maze. And Crowley. Though I can see why _that’s_ the case.’

Charlie let out a few unintelligible gurgling sounds. Amenadiel gave him a dummy. Michael took a deep breath and said, ‘Actually, that’s why I needed to talk to you. Gabriel came to me earlier…’ She trailed off, looking at the flowers instead. Raphael had always had a soft spot for plants. And children, angelic or otherwise.

‘Oh? What’s going on?’ Amenadiel asked. His voice betrayed traces of alarm.

She held his gaze. ‘I’m fairly sure you’ve just found out. Or if you didn’t realise it yet, think about what you’ve just said and why.’

‘He’s always liked—children.’ He frowned, bemused. ‘Hang on a sec, if we’re not supposed to remember, how do I…?’

‘That is the question,’ Michael said. ‘So do I; so does Gabriel. I don’t know if it’s only us or if _all_ the angels and demons can remember, which would be even _worse_ , but something’s happened, Amenadiel. And I thought you might—know what to do.’

Amenadiel was silent for a while[4]. He stopped making the effort to move the swing. Eventually, he asked, ‘How long have you known?’

‘Oh, minutes. He came to my room, asking about this. I don’t think he’s taking it well. Heavens, neither am I; he wasn’t the one who _did it_.’

She saw her sword in her hand, ready to be raised against Raphael and his staff, which wasn’t even really a _weapon_. He didn’t _use_ weapons. He was only protecting Lucifer. She knew what she’d done that day, despite her best efforts, but what she’d lost was how it had made her _feel_.

Angels didn’t cry, but when they did, the tears were stubborn and wouldn’t cease even when clearly and firmly instructed to do just that.

‘No, he only cast out his _bondmate_.’ Amenadiel closed his eyes and took a few deep, focused breaths[5]. ‘I was a different angel then. But what we _did_ is—unforgivable. Oh my God, _Raph_ —’

‘I know,’ Michael all but whispered. ‘And to think I might have _killed him_ with Holy Water if they haven’t done that insolent little trick with their corporations… I know he’s a demon, but he’s also—’

Before all this, _he’s a demon_ would be enough to make one want to throttle him anyway, for being annoying, messing with things that weren’t any of his business, corrupting a perfectly good Principality, and, above all, simply being a demon. Demons were the outcasts who rejected God and deserved no mercy. The mere thought of _he’s a demon, but he’s also our sibling_ singlehandedly destroyed millions of years of convention.

‘You wouldn’t have,’ Amenadiel said, turning to look at her. ‘He wouldn’t have died. He told us he was immune anyway, on his bonding day, remember? They tested it out.’

Azrael had said that they’d known about the swap trick, and then Crowley mentioned something about a bowl of blessed tap water and a very dangerous experiment he’d been thankfully right about, Michael recalled. It should be enough to put her mind to ease, really, but it wasn’t. It was really starting to bother her.

‘I’m also wondering if remembering now is a blessing or a punishment. Or the extension of one,’ she confessed. ‘Or that bloody Ineffable Plan everyone keeps talking about these days.’

Amenadiel’s lips curled in a melancholy smile. ‘Where you only saw a demon before, you finally see a brother as well. A brother we personally cast out.’

She looked down on her gold-painted nails. Then at the grass beneath their feet. ‘Yes.’

‘Welcome to the club then,’ Amenadiel said. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He was talking about Lucifer, she realised, after remembering that he’s had to deal with him for the last eight years. And then chose to stay.

‘I don’t like it,’ she admitted.

‘No. How do you think I feel?’ He looked ahead and, when Charlie stirred in his carrier, make the swing seat move again. It _was_ somewhat relaxing. ‘Just when I thought I finally figured everything out, more crimes of the past have come back to haunt me. Crimes I knew I’d committed but forgotten the pain of. It’s this dull sort of pain filled with guilt and regret, Michael, and you were the one who came here and drew my attention to it rather than let me figure it out myself. And now I keep seeing all these _memories_ because I can’t stop thinking about them[6].’

‘No, neither can I. And that’s why I…’ She swallowed and brought herself to look him in the eye again. ‘You’ve changed, Amen. How did you do that? How did you move on, with Lucifer?’

‘It wasn’t easy. But the first step is wanting to, and you’re here, which is a good sign. It means you have regrets too.’

‘About Raphael. I’m not forgiving Lucifer.’

It was a bit more complicated _there_. Also, she was also there to brainstorm ideas on how to break the news to the angels in Heaven more gently, if at all. Although, the Virtues might notice eventually and then alarm everyone else, because no Virtue would ever willingly withhold information from anyone. If not handled properly, that _might_ stir up a commotion. It wasn’t as if there was a precedent for this kind of situation.

There was time to discuss that later, though.

‘I know, and I don’t like that you won’t even try, but I understand why you can’t do that yet,’ Amenadiel said. He knew the history. ‘But Raph—Crowley—he was different. He was smart and had all the right ideas millions of years before some of us even accepted the possibility that we might have free will as well and that not everything happens because it’s a part of God’s plan. Maybe this isn’t either.’

Michael blinked at him in surprise. ‘It must be a sign or something. The _timing_ —’

‘He thinks he might’ve done it himself, the memory wipe,’ he pointed out. Now _this_ was new information. ‘Maybe he took my words to heart and realised that it was time to stop hiding. He’s got his staff back, or so Luci said. It was quite the show he’s put on in Hell[7].’

‘His staff,’ Michael repeated.

‘Yeah. It still works for him. If he isn’t fully an angel, he’s enough of one to do that, with or without the bond.’ Amenadiel paused and seemed to contemplate something. As an angel and his sister to boot, Michael could virtually see the metaphorical cogwheels turning. ‘You know—I’ve never been bonded to anyone, but I do know how it can change a person, especially when one’s bonded to a demon.’

He was thinking of Gabriel, she could tell. His words from earlier echoed in Michael’s mind. ‘You think Gabe…?’

‘He’s been under Beelzebub’s influence for too long. He’s not enough of a demon to diverge from his path or think he’s anything less than a perfect angel, but that’s just it. He’s vain and proud and can even be hateful, whether he admits it or not. He’s enough of a demon to forget what being an angel should be like. That’s why he’s not taking it well and why he keeps arguing with everyone, but why _you_ are here, even if you’re the same. Lost in the bureaucracy and sterility and _idolatry_ of Heaven. And don’t look at me like that; deep down, you know it’s true.’

The frown on her brow, which he was probably referring to, deepened. ‘Don’t be like that, Heaven is absolutely perfect. By definition, it’s paradise,’ she said, but _deep down_ , she wasn’t as convinced of it as she’d been a year ago.

‘Yeah. It’s not, at least not for us. You start to see that when you live on Earth for long enough,’ Amenadiel said. It was the same conclusion and Aziraphale and Crowley had come to. At the back of her mind, Michael was rattled.

‘If remembering the demon traitor as a beloved sibling is helping you start to understand it too, maybe it _was_ a divine sign, who knows. And if everyone remembers it, maybe they too can see that nothing is black and white.’

Almost too quietly for him to hear, she said, ‘I asked myself the same question that he…’

‘What was that?’ Amenadiel asked. He really wanted to hear her say it, didn’t he?

‘Earlier, I asked myself the same question Raph had been asking all the time. And I thought that for a moment, I could almost see his point and—sympathise with him. With the same thing he was cast out for. It was a horrifying feeling.’

‘You know what humans say sometimes? That it’s never too late for anything,’ he said, smiling like a cat that ate the canary indeed. Or like a bastard angel who knew that he was right, because he was. ‘And I suppose the real question is, what will you do with that knowledge?’

* * *

1 They remembered everyone else, of course. That was still the truth. But all those other angels who had served beneath them until the Rebellion weren’t a cause for much concern. They weren’t family. Only faces in the crowd who did their jobs until they simply _didn’t_ and had to be sacked. They made an appearance in a nightmare every now and then, but their nondescript faces didn’t have an emotional background to them. They became demons, and the ache quickly dulled. Only Gabriel and Beelzebub were… _unique_. [✿]

2 Not that there was any sort of thing in Heaven.[✿]

3 She could find any of her siblings anywhere if she so chose to. It was all in the celestial senses. She could have successfully located Raphael as well, but she hadn’t wanted to. She hadn’t known that she should want to. She only knew that _now_ , when it was a little too late.[✿]

4 He was too busy replaying a memory of Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Lucifer, and himself playing a prank on Uriel. It involved helium and all that stuff stars were made of, but mainly the helium. In its pure gas form. Raphael had come up with it.[✿]

5 The memory inevitably transformed into one from the Fall. There was Gabriel, fighting with his own partner. Then there were the two of them, striking Raphael down as he stammered out something about _only ever asking questions—_ [✿]

6 He was actively trying to recall the happy, or at least happyish ones though. The Fall… the Fall was the sorest spot one could have. He didn’t want to be projecting those thoughts onto his son. Getting drunk on the blue stardust stuff for the first time, bickering over odd animals, having fun _transforming_ into their animal forms and surprising the younger siblings… that was what he wanted to remember and connect with the demon he knew Crowley to be _now_ , however brief that acquaintance was so far.[✿]

7 He’d called him, on one of the slower days.[✿]


	38. Face the Facts

Crowley’s brain, if it were in any way possible, went blank. _What_ has he just heard Aziraphale say?

What has he, for that matter, just seen with his own—well, not eyes, although they were very much in question here? With his mind? Someone had to be deluded here, because it absolutely wasn’t possible for him to have green eyes after literal bloody millennia of being more snake than person in certain aspects because of the whole _demon_ business.

That was the one part of him that he couldn’t change, no matter how hard he might’ve wished to during his time on Earth. He’s invented sunglasses centuries too early _specifically_ because of his incurable eye condition. It couldn’t just change _now_ because Lucifer said a few things.

Lucifer said a lot of things. He’s made sure his eyes stayed that way personally.

Probably. Crowley still wasn’t clear on that front, but he wasn’t keen on actually trying to find out either. Not yet. He’s had a lot on his plate lately, okay, and there was time for more angst-ridden introspection _later_.

No, really, it couldn’t. Then how did it—

‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale said, distressed but trying to comfort him at the same time. His warm hand reached out and cupped Crowley’s cheek. His thumb stroked his cheekbone, and Crowley knew that he was staring into his eyes with wonder and reverence, the levels of which were frankly off the charts.

Of course he’d be over the moon to see _that_ instead of his snake-like slits, no matter how much he’s always claimed to _like them_.

_No, that’s not **true** , Crowley, don’t be ridiculous—_ said his voice in his head, but Crowley turned the volume down and scrambled out of bed. He snatched his dressing gown from the chair under the window[1] and went straight to the bathroom.

The door rattled in its hinges when he slammed it shut[2].

Not daring to look in the mirror, he opened the tap and rinsed his face with ice-cold water. His hands, and his entire _body_ and metaphysical soul beyond too, felt different. Off-kilter. He still couldn’t quite put a name to the feeling, but it was how he’s felt since waking up. It was odd.

Sort of warm. And nice. And definitely odd, but in a chillingly familiar way.

He inspected those hands, but they didn’t look any different than they usually did. Of course they didn’t. He closed the tap and gradually allowed himself to check the mirror. His chest looked the same. His wings, invisible in the mirror except for when he _wanted_ them to have a reflection, looked the same, and properly groomed at that. They felt oddly warm too though, kind of like that part of Aziraphale’s soul that had settled inside his own during the bonding ceremony. Only this time, it wasn’t one tiny part of him that gave him a taste of what things had been like Before and soothed any mopey feelings he might have about it.

It was everywhere. It was _overwhelming_.

One look at his face, at last and still too soon, confirmed the sinking suspicion that was weighing heavily on his empty stomach.

Emerald eyes. Golden snake not-quite-tattoo.

He looked completely normal, apart from those two tiny details on his face, and wasn’t that just _fantastic_? Only _that little_ drew the line between angel and demon when you got to the crux of the matter. Physically, at least.

On the inside, he didn’t feel—jagged and disharmonious like a cold sharp rock that could never see light again; his essence flowed like smooth, warm, glowing syrup. Rather like what Aziraphale has always felt like to him, if he were honest. It wasn’t a _complete_ shock, what with the bond, but he still felt as if he were on _drugs_ or something[3].

He gripped the sink and gritted his teeth. He wanted to kick something all the way to space.

‘Crowley? My dear?’ Aziraphale wanted to talk to him, seeing as he knocked on the door and called his name once more for good measure. Crowley closed his eyes and said nothing, despite feeling all these emotions radiating from him in waves. Concern and love and a little bit of good-hearted exasperation with his antics.

‘Crowley, please, talk to me.’

‘I will, I just. Need some space, angel,’ he said. ‘I’m going outside. Don’t bother following. Take a shower or something.’

He clicked his fingers and found himself wearing his usual summer outfit: black denim shorts and a threadbare black t-shirt. His hair was held back with a thin headband—it was _that_ annoying length again, too short for a bun but too long to be of any use untied—and his sunglasses sat snug on the top of his nose.

It was _sunny_ outside.

He walked right past Aziraphale, who wrung his hands and didn’t quite know what to say so he sort of hovered with his mouth half-open, and jogged down the stairs and into the garden. Before he even made it to the bench, his knees gave out. He glanced upwards.

‘ _Why!?_ ’ he shouted, loud enough to scare off the lone bird perched on the roof and trying to tell another one that there might be worms about[4]. ‘Are you still punishing me? Was that not _fucking_ enough? I finally try to make peace with my existence as a demon and accept who I am and what I’d done, and now you go and undo that like it’s totally _fine_ to mess with people like that? Huh? ‘Cos that’s your style, isn’t it? Well guess what! _I did not ask for this!_ ’

He sank onto his heels. His throat felt raw.

‘I let go, I stop trying to run away and—and—and desperately hide from everyone and my past, I take the relationship with Aziraphale to the next level because fuck what angels and demons aren’t supposed to do, I talk to Lucifer, and then—what? I lose the one thing that’s made me _me_ for the last few _million_ years? It’s a _cruel joke_ , d’you know that?’

He didn’t mean to Fall, but he did mean it when he said that it wasn’t that bad when he got used to it. He’s been Crawly, and then Crowley, a demon, for so long that he’d forgotten what being an angel really was like, and this sudden, unwanted _change_ threw him off balance. Like when a star crashed into you and the next thing you knew, you found yourself sprawled on the not-floor half a galaxy away[5]. That kind of throwing off balance.

‘And the worst thing—the worst thing—’ Crowley’s voice dropped. Staring into the distance, he said, ‘It’s not even your fault, is it? It’s like Luci said, ‘s all subconscious. He blamed you when he—but it was his own doing. And this—love, acceptance, forgiveness, all that _angelic_ bullshit, that did it. I know that now.’ He scoffed. ‘It’s the biggest fucking paradox in the universe. I realise that I had to Fall, nay, embrace it! And the places it’s led me and all this _stuff_! And _that_ makes me un-Fall—Rise, Ascend, whatever—even if I never bloody asked for it.’

He stretched out his arms and straightened his spine. In one last surge of fury, he cried, ‘ _I never asked for it!_ ’

Somewhere inside the house, a lightbulb burst and shattered. The somewhat slacking carrots promptly decided to grow bigger, and wilting rose blossoms straightened themselves and became as crisp and pink as fresh. Crowley sat on the grass and purposefully ignored a hot tear running down his cheek for God-didn’t-even-know-how-long.

He jerked back to reality when a gentle hand touched his shoulder. He lifted his gaze and found Aziraphale’s blue eyes staring at him. Then he noticed the rest of him. Namely a truly hideous beige polyester short-sleeved shirt, with these weird shapes that Crowley couldn’t even begin to describe, that the angel was wearing. The fact that it was from the 1980s and therefore probably the most modern piece of clothing he owned made it even _worse_. He groaned and said, ‘I thought you’d thrown that out.’

He’d certainly told him to, a number of times.

‘I didn’t, and it’s a good thing too, because now you’re noticing the shirt and not the things on your mind,’ he said, a tiny smile on his lips. He put it on on purpose. Ridiculous bastard. ‘I heard that, you know. Those were some very nasty things you said to—but I understand. This is certainly an _unusual_ and _difficult_ situation, I cannot even—I—I’m _here_.’

His mind, when Crowley dared to open his own enough to see, told him he was engaged in thinking how warm and radiant Crowley was now, how utterly _different_ —

‘You have no idea what it’s like, angel. And don’t pretend that you’re not at least a bit happy about it. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, eh, me being an angel again so you wouldn’t have to be ashamed about hanging around with a demon?’

‘Nonsense!’ he insisted. ‘If you think for one moment that I don’t love you as you are and wouldn’t spend eternity with you as a demon, then you’re dreadfully wrong. This changes _nothing_.’

‘Well. I’m guessing those very useful powers are all gone now,’ he laughed bitterly. Gabriel would be happy about that, no doubt. He wasn’t a threat to him anymore.

Well, he was a different kind of threat, he supposed.

‘Oh, for—I didn’t marry you for the powers; I didn’t even know that would happen. You’re my wily old serpent, and I _will_ fight off your pesky siblings for you again if I must, and I—I have _questions_ , but I’m _here for you_. I brought you tea and some cake.’

He shoved a plate and a mug in front of his face, endearingly passive-aggressive about the whole thing. _Charming_ , Crowley thought. Out loud, he asked, ‘You still haven’t eaten that?’

‘No, not when you were in Hell. Couldn’t[6],’ Aziraphale admitted.

The cake’s black-and-whiteness was like salt in the wound. Crowley resigned to taking the plate anyway. ‘Thanks, angel,’ he said. ‘Just to be clear, do _not_ call me by that name.’

‘ _Crowley_ , I wouldn’t.’

‘Good.’ He took a sip of the tea. He wanted to add that _he wasn’t that angel anymore_ , but before he could get another word out, the doorbell rang.

On a Sunday morning. Again.

‘In here! The gate is open!’ Aziraphale called, earning a scowl for it. _I’m sorry,_ he said telepathically. _And I know. I’m familiar with the concept of deadnames, you know, my dear. You’ll always be Crowley to me, as long as that is what you want._

Crowley sent him a mental acknowledgement and took another quick sip. The plate with the cake ended up on the lawn next to him; he had no mind to eat that right now. Or get to his feet. He was rather more preoccupied with thinking how ready to fight he should or shouldn’t be as he waited for the intruder to round the corner. It could just be a neighbour complaining about his yelling, after all.

It, naturally, wasn’t.

‘Adam Young?’ Aziraphale said as the boy, who was also the Antichrist and Lucifer’s bloody _son_ , approached the pair of them. ‘What are you…?’

‘Something’s changed. Something big. I felt it. An’ something’s told me I should come here.’

* * *

1 It wasn’t there a minute ago, but he expected it to be, so it decided to obey. What good would it be somewhere else when he needed it now, for the purpose of storming off dramatically while putting the silken, billowy thing on?[✿]

2 It was a rather old door. And a rather old cottage, for that matter.[✿]

3 Not that he had much experience in this area. Crowley wasn’t against rolling a spliff every now and then—all the cool kids in Hell did it, and besides, cannabis was _medicinal_ and less nasty than regular cigarettes; humans were ridiculous about this kind of thing in his personal opinion—and he’d tried ecstasy exactly one (1) time in the late 1990s, but that was about it. He could imagine the feeling though, or thought he could. He _had_ spent a lot of time in Soho.[✿]

4 There were. Crowley knew about the importance of earthworms in the garden and, unlike brother-snails and sister-slugs and other common pests Aziraphale always insisted on being kind to—bleh—encouraged them to live there. If the birds ate them, well, that was their own problem.[✿]

5 Don’t ask. Really, don’t.[✿]

6 It was the second-to-last piece though.[✿]


	39. Return of the Antichrist

‘Something’s told you you should come here,’ Crowley repeated dryly.

‘Yeah,’ said Adam. His eyes immediately flicked to the snake emblem on the side of his face, which he could see all too clearly in this position, and which was most determinedly not black anymore. He studied it most curiously. ‘When I was asleep, like in a dream. But it wasn’t exactly a dream.’

A shiver ran down Crowley’s spine.

Next to him, Aziraphale woke up from the daze of surprise and gave Adam his Customary Polite Smile. It was more or less a sincere one. ‘Alright, why don’t we go inside, and then you can tell us more. We have _cake_ ,’ he pointed out, punctuating it with a wave of his hand.

Adam grinned, because he was still just an 11-year-old. ‘Cool!’

Aziraphale offered Crowley a hand. He took it and got to his feet, carefully instructing his tea not to spill while he did that. He didn’t need to tell Aziraphale to pick up the plate with the cake as he made sure that there were no grass stains and imprints on his legs. He didn’t tell him to give the cake to Adam either, but it happened anyway, and Crowley couldn’t help the grimace on his face.

 _You didn’t want it anyway,_ Aziraphale pointed out sulkily.

 _I never said that!_ Crowley argued. They shared a Look. It was also about what Adam said.

And speaking of—Adam dug the fork into the chocolate part of the cake, shoved a large bite into his mouth, and let out a muffled but excited ‘Ta!’ before they even made it inside the cottage.

Once they did, Crowley made a beeline for the sofa and plopped down onto it, feet up. Aziraphale patted one leg not a second later, however, which was his very prim and polite way of telling him to get his bloody legs off the couch because he needed a place to sit too. As if there weren’t two perfectly good armchairs around.

Not that he complained, ever[1].

Adam took one of the armchairs, cake in hand. Despite the excited eating of said cake, his eyes were scrutinising and calculating, rather uncomfortably so. Crowley blinked. He cleared his throat but didn’t really know what to say.

Aziraphale took it as a cue and asked, ‘How did you even find us, Adam[2]?’

‘I dunno, I just did,’ he said. ‘The voice—well, it wasn’t _really_ a voice, but I dunno how to describe it—said to find you, and that you might need to talk to me. So I took a cheese sarnie, told Mum an’ Dad that I was going out and they shouldn’t worry, and got on a bus. And here I am.’

‘On your own?’ Crowley cried out, furrowing his brow. He pictured the route in his head[3], and the fact that Adam was _eleven_ and probably didn’t even have money. ‘B—but—but you’d have to take a bus to Reading, then a train to London, then another train to Littlehampton, and then walk! That takes ages[4], kid! And—and—and—’

He wasn’t _worried_ about the Antichrist. He was only—oh, fuck, he _was_ worried. Because Adam was a child, and his internal levels of protectiveness towards children, which have always been a bit too high for a demon, seemed to have skyrocketed during this whole Ascension business, blast it. Once you tapped into the heavenly source of infinite love and care again, there was no stopping it.

He wasn’t sure he _liked that_.

But he also liked it all too much, and that was the most difficult part. It was like finally basking in sunlight after spending a year in a damp cellar, times ten thousand. Addictive as hell[5].

Adam just shrugged. ‘It’s Sunday. An’ I knew that no one would bother me or ask any questions.’ He polished the last of the icing off the plate and set it on the coffee table. ‘Thanks for the cake again; I haven’t had anything other than that one sandwich.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ said Aziraphale. He was wrapping a wing around Crowley’s form and not helping his troubles by projecting his love _at all_. ‘Do you want anything else? Tea? I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘Actually, could I have some cocoa? And maybe an apple if you have any?’ Adam asked.

Crowley snorted. He certainly asked the right people. Aziraphale told him to wait a moment and scurried off to the kitchen. It was his way of staving off the inevitable conversation. All very British, Crowley thought, offering to make tea and letting your mind adjust to the sudden, unexpected situation in the meantime. But then again, they have argued about the correct way to eat a scone[6] or complained about the government too many times to even count. They were both practically native at this point.

‘So,’ he said, overly rounding the vowel. He didn’t ask the question. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer and didn’t like it at all.

_What did the not-voice sound like?_

‘So,’ said Adam. He pointed at his own cheek. ‘You’re an angel again.’

Crowley let out a sigh. He took his sunglasses off and threw them onto the coffee table. They clattered and landed next to his mug rather unceremoniously. Adam paid them no mind and instead gazed into Crowley’s eyes without any shame.

Crowley did _not_ squirm.

‘You’re struggling with it though,’ Adam said. ‘Like I did with all that stuff last year.’

Crowley reached for the mug and took a large gulp of his tea, which didn’t dare to go cold. He focused his inhuman senses on Adam and looked at his form on the metaphysical plane. There was celestial light around him, as he’d expected, and the faint outline of wings.

Not fully fledged yet[7], but they were there nonetheless. Two pairs.

Guess you _couldn’t_ self-actualise your way out of being a celestial completely[8].

Crowley cast a sour glance skywards—or ceilingwards, as it were—and cursed Her in his mind one more time.

‘Yeahhhhhhhh,’ he said, drawing it out for an unnecessarily long time. ‘I never asked to be— _that_ again, not for a _very_ long time. But does anyone ask me what I want? Do I ask _myself_ what I want? Because guess what bitch, we did _not_ agree to this.’

‘You’re not supposed to swear around children!’ Aziraphale called from the kitchen.

‘What? I didn’t even say the f-word,’ he argued. ‘And, and, I should encourage swearing, shouldn’t I, I’m a—’

Except he wasn’t. A demon. There lay the heart of the bloody issue.

Aziraphale came scuttling and handed Adam his cocoa and a yellow apple. ‘There you go,’ he told him. He rejoined Crowley on the sofa, immaterial wing around his form and all. Soft and grounding.

‘Do you, er. Know who I am?’ Crowley asked Adam. He scratched the snake on his cheek. It didn’t feel any different to the touch.

The boy took a careful sip of cocoa and said, ‘Yeah, I do. I’ve known since the air base. You’re kind of surrounded by light now though, and not the negative kind of light like before. And don’t ask me how I know that either.’

Crowley remembered the feeling of being stared at Like That and read like a book, both at the air base and earlier today. He still didn’t like it.

‘You still have powers,’ Aziraphale stated. He could see it too, no doubt. ‘We thought that you’d—when you renounced Satan as your father. If that was what you did when instead of _Lucifer_ , your earthly father showed up, that is. Was it[9]?’

‘Yeah. I reset everything, an’ no one remembers, an’ I don’t hear all those voices anymore, telling me to fix everything or rule the world, but I still _know_ things. I can control the weather in Tadfield like I used to or make myself unnoticed on the train. That kind of stuff. An’ I felt _this_.’

He used the apple to gesture vaguely at Crowley.

‘The, erm, the voice,’ said Aziraphale. Crowley should have known that when he didn’t ask, Aziraphale would. ‘What was it like? What exactly did it say, again?’

‘Exactly wha’ I said—just that I should talk to you. She was a woman, I think. Sounded a bit American actually.’

* * *

1 Why would he complain when Aziraphale decided to sit next to him, close enough to touch even, rather than miles away in an armchair like he used to? He’d wanted that to happen for years and years when they met and drank and discussed things at the bookshop.[✿]

2 Aziraphale had Tracy’s number as well as the number of her and Shadwell’s new landline, and they had met precisely once after Armageddoff, for dinner and tea. But they didn’t live in Tadfield and, as far as he was concerned, didn’t give his number, or the new address, to anyone else—Anathema Device, her young man, or the children.[✿]

3 For a demon, he knew an awful lot about the British road network and railway system. He’s been riding and driving around the island for centuries now, and even if he hasn’t taken a train for at least three decades, Aziraphale has. He’d surveyed the local situation as soon as they moved in and wrote down all possible routes to and from the village in case he needed to go somewhere while Crowley was unavailable or when he simply didn’t feel like going with him—which was frankly rude; his driving was impeccable, thank you very much. Crowley could claim not to have remembered it all, but he’d be lying.[✿]

4 About four hours, to be precise. If nothing was delayed, anyway, which it usually was. There usually weren’t any former Antichrists travelling from Tadfield to Littlehampton though.[✿]

5 He chose this particular phrase on purpose.[✿]

6 At least the pronunciation was something they could agree on.[✿]

7 It was hard to tell with Nephilim, but his best estimate was that he’d be able to materialise them and fly around the age of fifteen, maybe as early as thirteen or as late as eighteen. It would be the same with Charlie. Wings were the last part of an angel’s form to develop properly; it happened during what one might call puberty. Or actual puberty where these kids were concerned.[✿]

8 If you were wondering how come Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t sense that Warlock wasn’t one even for a moment when they so clearly should have, what with all their extra senses, it was mostly that for two powerful beings, they were incredibly stupid sometimes, and it didn’t even occur to them to check, because that was _supposed_ to be the Antichrist, so why shouldn’t it be? And it wasn’t like they were near any Nephilim before, not really, so they had no way of telling if they should or shouldn’t have wings. Only when Crowley met the three-months-old and very much winged Charlie did he realise it.[✿]

9 May we remind you that in the book, Satan did not show up and Adam, therefore, couldn’t tell him off and tell him he wasn’t his father. He merely Thought and then Arthur rolled up in his car.[✿]


	40. Eden Reimagined

Adam set the cocoa aside and took a crunchy bite of his apple, blissfully unaware of the meaning or weight of what he’s just said. Aziraphale shared another Look with Crowley. Apart from the crunching, there was silence.

 _Do you think…?_ Aziraphale’s mind asked carefully. He didn’t need to voice—well, _think—_ the rest of the thought.

 _Yup. Probably. I don’t even want to think about it_.

_After **all** this time… well, I’ll be damned! I suppose that She **was** listening after all._

Maybe She was. And then still didn’t speak to them personally but rather decided to talk to Her own grandson as if he were a prophet or something, another pawn in Her game who had to do as told simply because he didn’t know _better_ ; he was _eleven_.

Right. Typical.

‘I never asked for it either,’ Adam said suddenly, interrupting their thoughts. ‘I thought it would be easier if I didn’t have any powers anymore, because what good is meddling with the world when everyone’s going to muck it up all over again? I jus’ wanted to be normal. I thought that if I denied my father, I’d become human and never have to think about all this world-ending business ever again. But here I am.’

‘You’re still the Antichrist,’ Crowley said. Internally, he was going over what he’s just said, over and over. He emptied the remaining contents of his mug into his mouth in one large gulp and let out a soft _ngh_.

‘Not the Antichrist. Jus’ Adam Young. But I’m not human,’ said Adam, with a solemn air that felt unbecoming of a child.

‘You’re half-angel,’ Aziraphale supplied. ‘A Nephil, to be precise. _Not_ half-demon, in case you were wondering, because the Fallen still count as angels on the, err, physiological level. When you get down to it. And Lucifer is like Crowley here. Risen.’ He shot Crowley a fleeting, apologetic glance and then turned back to Adam and added, ‘We met him.’

‘Did you?’ he asked calmly.

‘Long story,’ Crowley said. He didn’t know how much Adam did or didn’t want to know about him. He’d rejected him, after all, and Crowley knew a thing or two about that.

‘You’re actually my uncle,’ Adam said to him. Crowley wasn’t surprised. The boy took another bite of the apple and chewed[1]. ‘And in a way, I think tha’ we’re going through a similar thing.’

‘You kept your powers. I went from demon to angel in the span of what, an hour, after literal _millions_ of years of existence as the former, without any warning whatsoever and no way to undo it unless I murder someone, apparently. It’s not the same,’ he said darkly, letting out a heavy exhale.

He wasn’t sure if he completely believed that, though.

‘We’re both someone we don’ want to be,’ Adam said. ‘We can’t change it. I may be eleven, but I know about your entire lives, remember? Even before that war.’ His eyes travelled from Crowley to Aziraphale and back. ‘You thought you found a place to belong, even if it was terrible, an’ you made a life for yourself, an’ then someone took it away. That someone was yourself. An’ you don’t know how to deal with that.’

Adam sipped at his cocoa and kicked the armchair with the heels of his trainers[2]. ‘I’ve got the Them though, an’ my parents, an’ the Johnsonites. They’re our enemies, but we still sort of like them ‘cos what would it all be like without them? Boring. Boring is… well, boring.’ He smiled. ‘You’ve got Aziraphale an’ your siblings. Nothin’ will be normal again, but the world doesn’t know that. You’re still you. An’ you must’ve wanted it. So must’ve I, really.’

Crowley tried to come up with something clever to say to that, but, as he was still processing it, all that came out of his mouth was, ‘You’re smart for a kid. Lucifer’s, no less.’

Adam’s eyes as if darkened for a second.

Aziraphale wasn’t much better off in the department of replies or coherent thoughts.

‘He’s… not a bad person, actually,’ Crowley said eventually. ‘I’ve spent some time around him recently, mostly talking and reforming Hell.’ Adam’s eyebrows went up. ‘Yep, that’s a thing. And just so you’d know, the demons wanted to dethrone him and get someone new, someone with Archangel blood. They wanted you. But Lucifer said no. He might not have been there for you, but he’d never hurt you or let anything happen to you, or to your cousin Charlie. Did y’ know you had a cousin?’

 _Did you know **I** saved you too when I went to Hell? When the Archangels didn’t care about your, or Charlie’s, life? _he thought but kept to himself. Well, to himself and Aziraphale, probably. Aziraphale tightened his astral wing’s grip around him, which was as good as a confirmation.

‘I did, actually. I felt that too,’ Adam nodded, because of course he did. Crowley was hoping it was about the cousin question. ‘You should talk to your family about stuff. Really, I heard it helps. It helped me when I talked to the Them. We still play at the Apocalypse sometimes, and all these special effects I can sometimes do with wind an’ stuff make it a lot of fun.’

‘Have you still got the dog?’ Aziraphale asked. ‘The former Hellhound?’

‘I do. I told him to stay home an’ wait for me to come back. I reckoned it might be trouble if I took him all the way here. Dog will be staying with me _forever_ though!’ he exclaimed.

Well. That might even be possible. Former or not, Hellhounds had extremely long lifespans, not to mention Adam’s somewhat dulled but very much present reality-shaping abilities that could just make him fully immortal[3].

Crowley leant his elbows against his knees and rested his chin in his hands. He stared at his reflection in the sunglasses on the coffee table. ‘‘M not sure they’d want to talk to me though. They’re still stubborn as anything,’ he said. He meant his siblings, naturally.

‘Well, I s’ppose Gabriel isn’t very nice,’ Adam giggled. ‘But you might be surprised. My sister Sarah and I fight a lot too, but I still love her and she loves me ‘cos we’re siblings. She’s mostly away now, studyin’, but when she comes back it’s all the better.’

‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ said Aziraphale. Crowley was thinking the same thing. What he didn’t do was melt into a full-on angelic beam. ‘How lovely.’

‘I do. She’s eight years older than me. I don’t even care that she’s not my _biological_ sister, that stuff is rubbish anyway. The Them are my family just as much,’ said Adam. He took a sip of cocoa that was as resolute as that statement.

The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched in a lazy smile. He ran his hands through his hair and then straightened up. The smile became a full-fledged manic one. ‘Hey Adam, want to see something cool?’

He nodded excitedly. Aziraphale raised a single, slow eyebrow. Crowley clicked his tongue and winked at the same time, all the while using the other half of his mind to conjure up his staff. He’d avoided that talk when he came home yesterday, but he knew that Aziraphale has been dying to ask about it.

‘I got this back too, some time ago. D’you know what it is, eh, kid?’ he asked, pointing it at him.

‘Your staff,’ he said. An _obviously_ was implied. He knit his brow as he studied the snake winding around the rod. ‘Isn’t it something from Greek mythology though? I think I saw it in a book somewhere.’

‘It is, yeah, but they got that from me, the Olympians[4]. They already existed before I Fell, and, yeah. It got to Earth eventually.’ He blew a raspberry. ‘I can do plenty of cool things with it. Watch. You too, angel.’

He focused his powers into it. It came much more easily now than it did in Hell, probably because his essence wasn’t blocked by the demonic darkness anymore, and he felt the energy pulsing in every cell of his corporation. It felt absolutely _incredible_.

Crowley let the end of the rod touch the ground. A gentle ripple, barely noticeable to the naked eye, shot out of it and spread through the room. All at once, they weren’t sitting in their living room anymore but found themselves, and the sofa and armchair, in the middle of a garden. _The_ Garden.

Instead of the hallway and kitchen, there stood the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and right behind it was the Tree of Life, the one almost everyone always forgot about. Around them grew the softest, greenest grass and plants and shrubs that had _nothing_ on Crowley’s personal indoor or outdoor garden. There were even species that didn’t exist on Earth anymore, or never did in the first place[5]. And it looked oh so _real_.

He remembered everything to the tiniest detail, even 6023 years later.

‘Is this…?’ Aziraphale asked.

‘The Garden of Eden, good as new!’ Crowley said, spreading his arms wide. ‘Well, it’s an illusion, obviously, but it’s nice, innit? What d’you say, Adam? That’s the original apple tree Eve and your namesake ate from, thanks to _moi_.’

‘Wicked!’ he said, looking around, full of childish wonder. ‘Are those apples real? Can I have one?’

Crowley laughed. ‘No, they’re not, and you couldn’t even if they were. You don’t need to, kid. And _don’t_ try to make it real; I got rather attached to this house and I’d hate to have to, y’know.’ He waved his free hand around vaguely. ‘Fix that too.’

‘Oh, _Crowley_ ,’ Aziraphale said. He took the hand and laced their fingers together. His wing did that nice brushing thing again. ‘This is _wonderful_. And you did that for Adam!’

‘Shut up,’ he drawled. ‘Just ‘cos I’m an angel again, it doesn’t mean you get a free pass to say all that nice stuff about me. Feeling like hot maple syrup and sensing love coming from literally everywhere doesn’t mean I’ve got to be all _nice_ and forget everything that I’ve learnt in Hell, got it? It’s instincts and reflexes at this point.’

‘Well, we both know how Gabriel and Uriel and Michael are,’ Aziraphale said dryly. ‘And forgive me, I’m going to say it—’

‘Angel, _no_.’

‘—but you’ve always been a better angel than any of them. Even as a demon. There, I said it. I won’t do it again[6].’

‘Okay, angel. Okay. Whatever,’ Crowley said. He tried to frown, but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked at Adam, who was standing up and observing one of the plants. ‘Hey, Adam, you know virtual reality?’ The boy shook his head. ‘Right. Not everyone’s got rich American parents, got it[7]. Basically you can’t touch or feel anything, but you can move it about and see more beyond what’s here right now. Explore the Garden of Eden, Adam, it’s the only chance you’ll get.’

Adam beamed. ‘Thanks, Crowley!’

‘Don’t mention it. You spent like four hours getting here, might as well make it worthwhile,’ Crowley said, one hundred per cent nonchalant. ‘Err, also mind that there’s still furniture around; you just can’t see it.’

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. ‘I think… I think you needed this, whether or not the actual purpose was hearing Adam say all those things,’ he said. He worried at his lip. ‘Will you talk to me now? About everything? Or, or eat something? I still have the one slice.’

‘Nah, not hungry,’ Crowley said. ‘But yeah, Aziraphale, I don’t keep secrets from you. Anymore,’ he amended. ‘I mean I _can’t_ , with the…’ He gestured between them. ‘But I’m still not _okay_ with this whole thing, yeah? That won’t be fixed in one morning.’

‘Of course not, dear,’ Aziraphale said with an empathetic smile.

‘Glad we’re on the same page then,’ Crowley replied. As he watched the former Antichrist move his projection about, he let a few more words slip out of his mind: _look at that, Mother. Guess you won._

* * *

1 This would be even more poetic if they’d stayed in the garden outside, in the shade of an apple tree, but too much was too much, Crowley thought and tried not to laugh out loud.[✿]

2 They were somewhat muddy. The armchair, infused with hundreds of years of miracles, refused to let that mud stick to it and vanished it into the garden without giving a second thought to the fact that inanimate objects should not be able to do such a thing.[✿]

3 If Adam chose to be immortal, anyway. Again, it was a bit difficult to tell with Nephilim, but that was exactly the point—they weren’t like celestials. They were half-human—or half-any other life form, for that matter, there could just as well be half-Martian Nephilim. In theory. Anyway, they were both mortal and immortal, and so they had the privilege of choice, of free will. They could live forever just like their celestial parent, or age together with their mortal friends and family. Or do just that and _then_ become young again and continue to live.[✿]

4 It was, in fact, the Rod of Asclepius. Only Crowley had it first, so it should be called the Rod of Cr—well, _Raphael_ , really, but no, it was just “his staff”. Not that he cared for details or anything. This year was the first time he’s held it in aeons, anyway, and he hadn’t actually had it trademarked as an angel. So some lesser healer deity stole the concept from him, so what, eh? No biggie.[✿]

5 Some plants native to other planets really didn’t agree with the local atmosphere. It was a shame. They were often the most beautiful or interesting ones.[✿]

6 Saying it took a lot of strength, and realising it took even more time. Aziraphale could admit to himself that Heaven wasn’t perfect and neither were the angels, and that it was a good thing that he no longer worked for them and could spend as much time with Crowley as he wanted to, but those thoughts still didn’t come easy and didn’t feel right, sometimes. Even if he’d seen first-hand how Crowley’s own siblings treated him and would fight them for him. But he was trying.[✿]

7 Oh, Warlock. He hasn’t thought about him for a while. But frankly, it had been terrible of them to abandon him like that, with barely a day’s notice, and then never say so much as a word again even after they’d found out that he _wasn’t_ the Antichrist. He should call him or something. Or text. He knew the kid was on Messenger despite his age and could easily find him… after he was done making an inventory of everything this angel brain of his thought acceptable.[✿]


	41. An Old Friend

As soon as Michael returned to the Silver City with the beginnings of a plan on her mind, she flew to the Virtues’ operations hub, a place she hasn’t personally visited in thirty years, hoping that she could get ahold of their leader and discreetly talk to them.

First things first, as the humans said. Because if she allowed herself to go to her quarters and Think, she might not find the strength to do it later, and that was the most terrifying thought of all.

She was the warrior. That _didn’t happen_.

Now, Virtues weren’t much of a special sort. They mostly oversaw the use of miracles, performed bigger miracles themselves when it was beyond the power of Heaven’s representatives on any given planet, forwarded reports about excessive use of miracles by said representatives[1], and also supervised the general workings of the Universe—that kind of thing. These days, they were as much about bureaucracy and paperwork as anyone else. But back in the day, under _him_ , they’d helped create. They’d spread light and faith and strength among the peoples of the Universe. They’d given miracles freely and made healers or seers[2].

The last time such a big one happened was when Agnes Nutter was born—if one didn’t count one Chloe Jane Decker, who was blessed by Amenadiel, the firstborn himself. But that was ineffability for you. Thanks to that woman, Lucifer has _Risen_ , which has brought them all _here_. The Antichrist, on the other hand, would have stopped Armageddon even without the prophecy book and, consequentially, the presence of Crowley, Aziraphale, and the humans, as Uriel had calculated one day. It was clear which one was more important in the eyes of the Lord.

Michael didn’t agree with either, really, which was one of those things she’s been keeping to herself because _one did not question God_. She had to accept that the Great Plan had been a big celestial ruse. She did.

Until she started questioning God and nothing happened, only her own guilt became louder.

She had been in the right during the War. She had followed God’s orders. But then they all followed them to the _dot_ with Armageddon, and it didn’t happen. She had cast out her brother for having questions and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, along with the other brother who did very much deserve it. She hadn’t been punished—why would she be? Except now, _now_ , the memories returned, and she was leaning towards the theory that it _was_ a punishment. Only—Amenadiel mentioned something about angels punishing _themselves_ without God being involved at all when they thought, internally, that they deserved it. He’d Fallen.

Was it a punishment because she thought it was, then?

Right.

Even—or especially?—for an Archangel, thoughts like this were confusing and conflicting. That was why everyone always repressed them, she thought with a chuckle. Amenadiel has really got to her there.

All this self-awareness was extremely unpleasant, for the record. Naturally. See the point above.

Michael entered the building and gave the first angel she saw an overly sweet smile, crossing her hands behind her back. ‘Is Hamaliel[3] present?’ she asked.

The angel blinked at her in confusion for a second, most likely wondering what the Archangel Michael could possibly want with the Virtues, but quickly returned the smile and pointed at a lift. ‘They are in their quarters, Prince Michael. Shall I alert them of your arrival?’

‘Yes, please.’

The angel took a translucent device similar to her own out of their pocket and tapped the screen a few times. Then they gave Michael a nod and the customary _praise the Lord_ and scurried off.

Michael took the lift to the uppermost floor. Hamaliel, dressed in a sky blue trouser suit and wearing their braided navy blue hair down[4], as few angels did nowadays, was already waiting for her by the windows.

‘Prince Michael,’ they said formally, ‘what brings you here? There is nothing wrong with the paperwork, is there?’

‘Ah, no, not that I’m aware,’ Michael replied, and they visibly relaxed. It was true that visits from the Archangels usually _were_ about paperwork. After the botched Apocalypse, Gabriel had gone there to tell them that Aziraphale was no longer to be monitored, for example. ‘This is…’ Michael hesitated. ‘Personal.’

They beckoned her to step closer with a gesture and said, ‘Of course. What seems to be on your mind?’

Hamaliel was, she should note, something of a priest other angels went to confess to, so to speak. Archangels didn’t tend to do so as far as she knew, God knew she hasn’t in centuries, but if you needed to talk to someone or get advice, you went to them. There was a reason they’d been chosen as Raphael’s successor.

And speak of the devil: ‘Raphael.’

Hamaliel winced upon hearing that name. And then they let out a soft _oh_ and thus confirmed all of Michael’s suspicions[5].

‘You remember him then,’ Michael said. Her voice did not waver despite the internal turmoil. ‘This is a… _recent_ development. Only Gabriel, Amenadiel, and I know, and we weren’t sure if it were only us or everyone, so naturally, I came to you. You were his—’

‘Protégé,’ they said. They turned around and faced the window instead, copying Michael’s stance. ‘I’d wondered why he chose me in particular, because I was nothing like him[6]. He’s always been slightly chaotic and struggled with words.’

Their voice was laced with fondness and the initial absence of the painful memories, Michael noticed, along with the fact that that was true. She joined them and fixed her eyes on the Palace. They turned to her once more and asked, ‘Do you know where he is?’

‘He’s Fallen,’ Michael said carefully.

‘I know. But do you know where he _is_ , Michael?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t think that he wants to talk to any of us right now. I can give you his location nonetheless—if you do something for me in return.’

An inquisitive eyebrow told her that she should voice her request. ‘The thing is, if everyone in Heaven and, potentially, Hell has now regained the lost memories of Raphael, it is only a matter of time before someone notices. And we need to handle it carefully.’

‘And that someone are my Virtues, you mean,’ Hamaliel said. ‘They’re the ones most likely to coincidentally remember their old leader, and while they aren’t ones to condone disorder, they don’t condone lying either. It would spread.’

Or, as Raphael would put it, which was something Michael knew now: Virtues were gossips. Someone who had access to miracle logs and watched the goings-on of the entire Universe could be nothing but, really. They were right there at the top of the gossip chain right next to the guardian angels and record-keepers, who also wrote the Celestial Observer.

‘Precisely,’ she agreed. ‘So I need you to, shall we say, take care of the problem smoothly and discreetly before something happens.’

‘I see. I can gather them.’ They took a few rhythmical breaths before they continued. ‘And how are you _feeling_? I know you didn’t come to me only for this.’

‘How are _you_ feeling, Hamaliel?’ Michael asked, deflecting.

‘Overwhelmed,’ they admitted, but you couldn’t tell by looking at them. ‘I cannot help but ache for him. And I don’t fully understand, the—the how and the why of the missing memories. That doesn’t happen often.’

Michael tittered. They weren’t the only one. ‘I suppose you could say it’s ineffable,’ she said. She was starting to hate that word. ‘Amenadiel said he had a theory that he’d done it himself though.’

‘A defence mechanism. Self-actualisation.’

Michael stared at them.

‘There are theories. And I’ve talked to him, the first time he returned home after Falling,’ they explained. Michael was wrong about her siblings not coming there, then[7]. ‘If I may say something slightly insolent—with your permission.’

‘Go ahead,’ Michael nodded. This wasn’t official business. It was a very old friend talking.

‘We come to you; you don’t come to us. But you know who does come to us? Everyone else. And we, as the Nine[8], handle everyone’s paperwork before it’s passed on to you. You don’t hear the voices of the lowest angels, but we do. And sometimes, we know more about what’s going on than you do. Did you know that three-quarters of the Third Sphere didn’t want to fight in the war? Or that they don’t see why they should fight or even dislike demons when really, they do the same daily job in a different office? All they want to do is serve God and the mortals in peace, but they get caught up in the Upper Management’s business whether they like it or not. And no one says anything because they know it’s unacceptable. Take what happened to Aziraphale.’

* * *

1 Such as Aziraphale, back when he was in active service.[✿]

2 Or both, in the case of the people of the planet Gallifrey and the child that had made them. They had been blessed by Raphael personally, on God’s request.

It only took them a few million years to borrow _his_ face, albeit not ginger, much to their dismay, which they didn’t know why they felt in the first place because of that business with the erased memories. Some things were bound to repeat themselves independently on the first case, and repeat they did. [✿]

3 They were the current leader of the Virtues, having got the position after Raphael had sauntered vaguely downwards, naturally. They were also the angel of logic and communication, which was a helpful coincidence, because Michael needed to talk to someone logical right now.[✿]

4 Hair colour was one of the programmable qualities of angelic—and demonic—corporations, and some of them saw an opportunity and took it, especially when their true form shone blue.

For an as-accurate-as-possible portrayal of the author’s idea of this angel’s appearance, see [this picrew avatar](https://cdn.picrew.me/app/share/202007/114808_DICAcWwc.png).[✿]

5 During the two weeks Crowley spent in Hell and the Archangels spent debating what to do about the memories situation, they had made a big announcement that some of their personal memories of were missing, so everyone was now aware that they didn’t have them when they should, but they didn’t yet realise that they got them _back_. Not unless someone pointed it out to them.[✿]

6 Raphael had been with the Virtues since they learnt to use their wings. Some angels had seen their charges as someone to order around and make do their job for them, but he’d made them his loyal team and known all their names and abilities and Functions. Hamaliel had been the smartest of the bunch and had really cool hair to boot, so he made them his second in command.[✿]

7 They’d been quite close before the War. As Raphael’s second in command, Hamaliel had also been his friend and spent quite a lot of time around him and, inevitably, his siblings. So did many other angels. Most had forgotten, but Uriel and Azrael did meet up with them from time to time.[✿]

8 Aka the nine leaders of the choirs, who were directly below the Archangels and the Metatron in the heavenly hierarchy of power. That would be Seraphiel, Kerubiel, Zaphkiel, Zadkiel, Hamaliel, Camael, Haniel, Sandalphon, and Barachiel. Sandalphon, as leader of the lowercase-a archangels, was the only one who regularly hung around the capital-A Archangels. No one quite knew why. Gabriel liked him though—again, no one knew why—so he was always there, unless it was a family meeting where he _really_ wasn’t welcome.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mentioned Gallifrey a few times so I think I should also mention that it canonically exists in the GO universe, right, but aliens aren't really a thing so assume it's a universe where they don't go to Earth (or at least don't get noticed or try to invade it) and neither does the Doctor, they're just a regular Time Lord who lives on Gallifrey and isn't all that adventurous. The Time Wars and all that stuff didn't happen. And the Master isn't crazy. They're married. Just for the record. Parallel universes, you know. 
> 
> (Not that I don't think they're married anyway.) (I mean, the Doctor and the Master/Missy are where I got my username from.)
> 
> (Also, if you don't know about the Timeless Child thing or don't watch DW, just ignore this.)


	42. Enlightenment

Michael didn’t know any of this, which was utterly unacceptable, because she knew _everything_ , and everything had to be reported.

Then she saw their point and pursed her lips. She stared out of the window in silence for a minute and clasped her hands in front of her body for a change. _They didn’t lose the love_ , she thought. _They didn’t forget what it means to be an angel. We might have._

Still, she _would_ relay that to her siblings. It directly involved them, and it _was_ insolent, and someone should inquire into it.

‘We think that it’s either a blessing, a punishment, or a test. A lesson to learn,’ she said eventually, deflecting once more. She still hasn’t got to the real reason for her visit.

‘Perhaps it’s all of those things,’ concluded Hamaliel. ‘We cannot know the will of God unless She tells us, and that hasn’t happened for a while. She wants us to figure it out.’

‘How can you be so certain?’

They shrugged. ‘Logic. It’s my Function.’

They moved away from the window and went to sit on a divan by the right wall. It was, much like almost everything in their quarters, blue. Michael followed them and sat on their left, hands folded in her lap.

‘You were on our side in the War,’ she began at last. ‘Did you ever… sympathise with them? See that they might have a point?’

‘I understood his questions, and that questions are the only way one can learn,’ they answered, knowing full well what she meant. ‘I also understood that God had Her own ways and that things were as they should be. I had faith. He might have led us, but he wasn’t a Virtue—he was impatient, too curious, and too _guilty_ in the end.’

‘You didn’t even know this five minutes ago,’ Michael noted, mildly amused. They were taking it surprisingly well. Suspiciously so, even.

‘And yet it feels as if I’d always done,’ Hamaliel said. ‘Strange times. I’m glad for it though; somehow, I feel whole now—even if I failed to notice that something was missing.’ They gave Michael a significant look. ‘And I’m not his sibling.’

She looked down at her hands and let out a breath heavy with pain that has been suppressed and boxed away in the dustiest corner of her multidimensional mind. ‘No. You didn’t strike your sword against his staff when he couldn’t fight back.’

‘You feel guilty too,’ they deduced. Their hand touched her shoulder, full of kindness. ‘Don’t. That’s in the past. It’s the present that matters, and how you make up for your past actions _now_. There must have been a reason for his Fall, and it was God’s decision and his own fault, not yours. You were acting according to the Plan.’

‘I—want to do better,’ Michael admitted. Something heavy fell off her chest. ‘I don’t know where to start.’

‘Communication,’ Hamaliel said with a smirk, ‘is key. Talk to your siblings too.’

‘I was going to.’ There was also the inevitable paperwork-y side of this. She would have to talk to Pravuil, the Keeper of Records, and probably the Metatron. Uriel had to be found. Gabriel’s unpleasant summons _might_ be in order at this point.

So was finding out if the demons knew as well and, what with that Cult of Crowley, what it might entail. They knew that Crowley had once been Raphael now, of course, but from her own experience, knowing and remembering were two completely different things.

And—she did need to talk to him. Not right now, but soon. Eventually.

‘Be careful, Hamaliel,’ she said. ‘Everyone might react differently. That’s why we’re keeping it under wraps for now instead of sending a Heaven-wide memo.’

‘I might have to discuss it with the Nine,’ they said. They withdrew the hand and put a thoughtful finger on their chin instead. ‘Does Lucifer know?’

‘He’s known the whole time. He and Beelzebub were the only ones. And Azrael, of course.’

Michael wasn’t sure about Aziraphale, but it was likely that he hadn’t known either. She imagined it might make things in their _relationship_ a bit more complicated[1].

‘Hmm. Interesting. This does suggest that it was his own rather than God’s doing—although we can’t rule out the possibility of them knowing being a necessity for things to go according to the Plan, and then there are the memories of Lucifer himself, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you purposefully omitted to mention him.’

Michael frowned. She didn’t want to think about Lucifer. That wound hurt even more than the one Raphael had left, and she couldn’t help the anger that bubbled up inside her every time she thought about his bloody face. She’s known where _he’d_ been the whole time, and what he looked like, and who he was, but she’s never had any desire—pun intended, actually, however she disliked it—to see him. Quite the opposite. Having talked to him _and_ remembered[2] made that even stronger.

‘Who was he in Hell, again? Raphael, I mean.’ Hamaliel asked. _You never told me_ was heavily implied in the tone of their voice. Thankfully, they let the Lucifer issue go.

‘Crowley. The Serpent of Eden.’

They smiled. _Knowingly_. ‘The most important nobody in the history of Earth.’

Michael blinked and gave them one of those Polite Smiles. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Okay, yes, he was the Creator of the Original Sin and such, practically our biggest enemy besides Satan himself, I know,’ they said, chuckling. ‘But from the logical, objective, universal point of view, what he did was necessary. Humanity wouldn’t be where it is now without him. Where God intended them to be. Why do you think the Tree wasn’t on the top of a mountain[3]?’

‘Those are—’ _Blasphemous thoughts_. But there _was_ logic to them. And they couldn’t be so completely and horribly wrong, now could they, when the leader of the Virtues said them out loud, smiling, and was still here and radiating pure light and reverence?

She didn’t finish the sentence.

‘Chances are that Lucifer not knowing who he was would still result in giving him the job, but it’s more likely that the opposite would happen,’ Hamaliel continued, and Michael suspected they were just thinking out loud half the time. ‘So, who knows? We must have faith and not reason who or why took our memories. It was necessary too, in the long run. Everyone plays their part in the Universe, angels _and_ demons. And I can see why he didn’t choose to take the Throne and remain a snake in the shadows.’ They shook their head, amused. ‘Until recently, anyway.’

‘You know about that?’ Michael asked, raising an eyebrow. She purposefully glossed over the _angels and demons_ part and let another part of her mind let that sink in.

‘Prince Michael,’ they said seriously. ‘I did say that we know more than you think. You thought that you were keeping the news of the rebellion hushed up, but you’re forgetting that some angels have demon bondmates. When Crowley sat on the Throne, they felt it too, thanks to the connection, and then they found out about the staff, the parliament, and the fact that he was Raphael. Only the _fact_ , but we already _knew_. Lesser angels are _gossips_. Mine especially.’

Michael wasn’t in the habit of gaping. She did so now, for about two seconds. Her mind refocused on Hamaliel’s little-too-calm demeanour. ‘You weren’t very surprised to learn about the memories,’ she stated.

‘No,’ they agreed. ‘Never did I say that I didn’t know that he was Crowley now.’

‘Cheek,’ Michael whispered.

Hamaliel laughed. They heard her. ‘You needed to have this conversation. I am also the patron of geniuses and teachers, Michael; I know a few things. That’s why I’ve always somewhat— _admired_ the Serpent. Little had I known that he was my old mentor. That just makes it ironic.’

‘You remind me of my—of Lucifer a little,’ Michael admitted, looking into their indigo eyes. She’s forgotten how deep and vibrant they were, and how they always made you feel as if they knew everything about you. She’s forgotten that their conversations used to be easy and casual and that they have always reminded her of both of her favourite brothers indeed. When there was no connection to them, though, the connection to the angels they liked disappeared too. ‘You don’t lie, but you play with the truth to suit your own purposes.’

‘You should talk to him too. I know it’s not my place to say that, but it’s true. _Communication_ ,’ they pointed out, literally, with their index finger. They said nothing to the rest of it.

‘Are _you_ glad that we didn’t fight?’ Michael pondered, just so she wouldn’t pout again. They were the second person to tell her that on the same day.

‘I was ready to fight,’ they said, ‘but yes, I am. Seven billion humans would have died, as well as millions of angels and demons. It’s too high a price to settle a useless old argument.’

Those had been the Antichrist’s words as well, hadn’t they? Gabriel had mentioned it once. Michael had disagreed. The price for establishing peace and harmony and eradicating the rebelling demon scum once and for all could never be too high. Because they _would’ve_ won.

She’d accepted that it wasn’t happening, but there still was a bit of disappointment. And some of those questions.

‘Things have been changing rapidly lately, after the Armageddoff,’ Hamaliel continued. Michael raised an eyebrow[4]. ‘Er. The failed Armageddon. I know you’re trying to set Heaven back to normal, which requires a lot of work and a lot of paperwork, but the paperwork isn’t the only thing you should focus on when it comes to the lower spheres. The guardian angels especially were against the War, which you’d know if you weren’t so focused on waging it and winning it. Some angels have _moved on_. A few, as you know, have demon partners.’

Michael tilted her head in acknowledgement. She didn’t have headaches either, but she was beginning to feel the onset of one, even if there was technically never too much information to fit into an angel’s mind.

‘Gabriel does,’ she risked, suspecting that they were aware of that as well.

‘I know. That makes it all the sadder.’

‘You know a lot of things.’

‘I do. That happens when you’re the angelic version of a confessional.’ The corner of their mouth briefly ticked upwards. ‘You are the ones who grew distant from the rest of us. And even during the official meetings, speaking those things out loud would result in being disregarded at _best_.’

Michael remembered Amenadiel’s words. On its own, her head turned to stare at the wall. ‘Lost in the bureaucracy and sterility. Cold. Not the older siblings we used to be to everyone.’

‘I can’t blame you though,’ Hamaliel said. They were still kind. It made her feel warmer. ‘You lost the memories and the emotions, and suppressed the rest because it hurt. And it does again now. Knowing hurts me too. I miss him.’

Silence settled over the room for a near-uncomfortable amount of time.

‘Alright,’ Michael decided. ‘I’ll tolerate everything that transpired here and make it my personal mission to talk to the Nine more often and focus more on the general angel population from now on,’ she said, ‘on the condition that you’ll tell us _everything_ from now on. It is your duty to report to us.’

‘We would report it at the next Upper Management meeting next week[5]. That we know about Hell and Crowley, that is. As the Archangels tend to say: if something isn’t on Hellfire, it can wait,’ they said. Michael bit the inside of her lip. They were right about that. ‘Or should I remind you of your own procedures? Because as far as I know, you didn’t report anything to us either, despite it being a Heaven-wide concern. I’m only letting you know now because the circumstances of this conversation told me that I wouldn’t be condemned for it.’

‘We did inform you of the fact that the memories were missing, but—that’s a fair point,’ she conceded. She stood up and brushed non-existent dust motes off her trousers as she turned to look at Hamaliel once more. ‘He lives near the town of Climping in South England, should you wish to talk to him. Though as I’d mentioned, he might not appreciate it.’

‘Thank you, Prince Michael,’ they nodded and stood up as well. They accompanied Michael all the way to the lift.

‘By the by,’ they said once they summoned it for her, ‘alerting everyone about the additional memories won’t be a problem in the slightest. They won’t panic if they already know. The demons will find out as well if they haven’t recalled them by now, and by next week, everyone will know. Only _then_ it might become uncontrollable. You might get a few more insolent messages, and he might get unwanted visitors.’ The lift arrived. With another significant look, they added, ‘It would be better for someone to prepare him for that.’

‘Alright, I get the point.’ Michael scarcely kept herself from rolling her eyes. She stepped into the bright cabin. ‘Don’t let me keep you any longer then.’

‘You know where to find me if you ever want to talk again. I also have stardust drinks,’ they said, and then the door closed in front of them, and Michael was standing in the lift alone. The warmth lingered.

She pressed the bottommost button and, once outside the building, went to find Gabriel.

* * *

1 She’s never liked Aziraphale, thought him odd and suspicious and lately even disobedient. She wasn’t wrong, per se, because he _was_ different. He’s fallen, if not Fallen, for a demon and was a bit too generous with his miracles. But he was a Principality, and Earth was his territory—they should’ve seen that _coming_. She still didn’t entirely approve of him being bonded to Crowley, but seeing it from a different perspective, it was _obvious_ that her brother would like someone like him. Didn’t he once meet him by the sea and then talked about it for the entire duration of a planet being formed? Ugh, all these mixed feelings were terrible.[✿]

2 The angels hadn’t remembered him either; it has come up a few times, but _no one_ liked to talk about it, really. Demons, on the other hand, knew everything. They’d only forgotten Crowley—perhaps due to that subconscious defence mechanism, perhaps not. Forgetting Lucifer, however… well, he had nothing to do with _that_. So who knew, eh? Only the Lord Above. Literally.[✿]

3 Another point for why Crowley might have liked them. They had the same ideas. Michael didn’t know this.[✿]

4 Crowley may have been the first one to come up with this, but he wasn’t the only one. Again. Hamaliel and their fellow leaders didn’t even know how many times they had someone correct the official paperwork because one angel made up silly names for the Nopocalypse and they spread like Holy Fire. They were also the reason why the Archangels have never heard of this.[✿]

5 Sandalphon had actually been contemplating telling Gabriel, because he certainly had plenty of opportunities, but this was a Nine matter and since seven of them outranked him, he decided not to push it and wait for the monthly meeting, as they’d agreed. He frankly _didn’t_ want to be telling Gabriel that his plan to keep things hush-hush has failed. He was a little too intimidated by him for that, even if they were friends.[✿]


	43. Here We Go Again

Gabriel looked at her as if she were the last person he wanted to see right now. Michael wasn’t surprised, after what happened when he’d come to her the day before. She did need to talk to him though, so she didn’t let the unkind, somewhat tired look on his face or the idea of the unpleasant but necessary conversation deter her and strolled right up to his desk.

He was working just to give himself an excuse not to think about his actions. Burying themselves in paperwork was a favourite escape mechanism of theirs, besides training with swords and spears, so she’d know.

‘Gabriel,’ she said, voice business-like, ‘a family meeting is in order. I’ll need you to get ahold of Uriel and Azrael. Pronto.’

He put his silver pen aside and plastered on his fakest smile yet. ‘Michael! What a pleasure. I did not expect you to be back so soon.’

Michael knew how to respond to that smile with her own. She clasped her hands in front of her and asked, ‘Do some of that praying, did you? Some much-needed self-reflection? Took care of everything?’ He stared at her. She batted her eyelashes. ‘No? As I thought[1]. Don’t patronise me and write the summons. I think that sometimes you’re forgetting who’s the actual boss around here, brother.’

Michael was the second oldest. She was a Seraph and a warrior. He was only an entitled Cherubic messenger, when you got down to it, and she, as a proper older sibling, wasn’t afraid to throw that in his face. Even if they did _share_ the duties of being in charge.

‘This about… him, then?’ Gabriel asked as he reluctantly prepared a sheet of that mauve paper he always used and picked up the pen. Michael sat down opposite him. She didn’t comment on the weary expression that returned to his face as soon as he dropped the grin.

‘Naturally. Some new information has popped up; it’s important.’

‘Amenadiel isn’t coming?’ Gabriel enquired.

‘No. I’ve already talked to him—and gained some painful but, I believe, valuable insight,’ Michael said, sighing lightly. His eyebrow went expressively upwards. She chose not to answer that one. Yet. ‘He doesn’t want to get mixed up in our business again, not until we “sort out our priorities”. His words.’

She paused and watched him write the message. Once it was duplicated and sent, she added, ‘I met his son, too. Our nephew.’

He grimaced. He _wasn’t_ a fan of Nephilim unless they were the Antichrist and could be used to start the end of the world. ‘So you’re siding with them now, is that it?’

Michael’s blood, which only coursed through her veins as a formality, froze. ‘I know you feel the same as I do. I know you’re hurting,’ she said, icy but no less composed. ‘You don’t have to become even more of a prick for it. Or do you only show emotions around your Prince of Hell?’

Gabriel gritted his teeth and pointed an angry finger at her. _You know what—_

He dropped it just as quickly. His shoulders sagged, and a heavy breath escaped his lips. He hid his face in his hands, elbows on the table and fingers in his hair. ‘‘M sorry,’ he mumbled. Michael blinked. Did she hear that right? ‘The memories, it’s—getting to me. And Beelzebub is more irritated than usual for the same reason[2], which is, well, _irritating_.’

Michael pursed her lips. She could try, but she’d never imagine what it was like, feeling another’s feelings and emotions constantly nagging at your consciousness and shaping your being—let alone that of a demon just as powerful as you. She recalled what Amenadiel had said about him being too influenced by her.

She spread her immaterial wings wide and reached around the desk, wrapping them around his form. A sibling bond wasn’t nearly as strong as that of bondmates, but she knew that he could feel it, and tried projecting Calm and Forgiveness and some of her own pain.

 _I understand_ , she tried to say.

Gabriel looked up, wearing a puzzled expression. His smile was small and genuine—something Michael hasn’t seen in two centuries at least. They didn’t do this anymore. _Why_ didn’t they do this anymore? Where did all the warmth go?

A ripple in the air—the momentary feel of static electricity—brought her out of her thoughts. It was Azrael, cloaked and looming. ‘HERE WE GO AGAIN,’ they said, sighing despite having no respiratory system to talk of. They conjured up a chair on Michael’s left. ‘HELLO, SIBLINGS.’

Michael withdrew her wings. If Azrael noticed, they didn’t show it[3].

Gabriel stared into their not-eyes. ‘Mind if you…?’

The face of Death stared at him for an unimpressed second before putting on their less off-putting look of a woman-shaped being wearing oddly colourful overalls. No cat jumper this time. ‘Sorry. You know how work is,’ they said. They looked around the room, empty but for the three of them and a few pieces of furniture. ‘Anyone else coming?’

‘I’m here,’ said Uriel’s voice from the other side of the room suddenly. They too were wearing a rather unusual attire: a white sundress. ‘You interrupted my holiday, so this better be good,’ they told Gabriel, throwing in a glare as frosty as the dress. He shot one back.

‘Where were you hiding out?’ Michael asked before the desk could catch on Holy Fire. She could have found out, of course, but she’d respected their need for time off. Until the situation became dire. Uriel would know this already, or they wouldn’t have come.

‘Xandar,’ they said. That was somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy, wasn’t it[4]? ‘Nice planet. Very straightforward and organised, no dishonest siblings to run into.’

‘I ran into them four times,’ Azrael offered. Of course they did. People died on every inhabited planet. ‘We had drinks. Not even their alcohol can get me drunk though…’

Uriel sat down next to them. Azrael has always been their favourite sibling—or, well, the only one they genuinely seemed to like, their stolen sword being the cause of that nasty discorporation a few years back notwithstanding. It had been Lucifer who had wielded it. Azrael was the only one who didn’t disregard them for being one of the younger ones. They treated everyone equally.

(They’ve always remembered everything. Was there a correlation? Was it just a Death thing?)

Michael cleared her throat. ‘So, to get to the matter at hand—and I’m deeply sorry, Uriel, but this might be another shock for you as you are, again, the last to find out—yesterday[5], Gabriel found that we had our memories of Raphael and Lucifer back.’

They didn’t talk about Lucifer. They didn’t like talking about him. _Michael_ didn’t like talking about him; she might have mentioned that. But there was no avoiding him, not when those memories were so thoroughly linked.

‘You do?’ Azrael asked, both eyebrows arched. They grinned. ‘Nice. We can bond over it! Remember when Luci—’

‘That’s not all,’ Michael interrupted before she heard something that would make those treacherous tears well up again. She glanced at Uriel, who was staring at the wall, utterly frozen. They were remembering. It was the same look she saw on Hamaliel earlier. ‘I have talked to Hamaliel, and what I found is… concerning.’

‘How so?’ Gabriel asked, concerned already. He’d known about her plan, or at least that she’d had one and it probably included that. He was guessing that it had something to do with the important new information she’d brought up, and he was guessing correctly.

‘All of Heaven and Hell already knows that Raphael is now known as the demon Crowley,’ she said. ‘When he sat on the Throne, everyone found out, just as he’d warned us. He also regained the use of his staff[6], but that’s not important right now. The important part is that thanks to the demons bonded to angels, Heaven found out as well, utterly beyond our control, and no one saw it fit to inform us, because apparently, our own rules of government are too strict.’

‘They also know about the rebellions then, I gather?’ Gabriel asked. He blew out his cheeks and smoothed his tie. If he was thinking about how annoying and inconvenient that was, he wasn’t thinking about his failures.

Michael nodded and confirmed his question.

Azrael _hmph_ ed. ‘I mean, they’re not _wrong_. I know why I don’t like to get involved.’

Uriel, who hasn’t dignified anything with a response since they found out, started _laughing_. Three heads snapped to them and stared in shock.

‘Lord, siblings, I know you like to make fun of me and not take me seriously,’ they said, shaking their head, ‘but can you honestly do _nothing_ without me? It was _obvious_ that that would happen! I did the maths once, once I knew about Gabriel and— _her_.’ They threw a glance at him. ‘When someone sits on the Throne of Hell, it transmits their mind to every single demon’s head, am I correct?’

They all gave them something of a nod. It was a rhetorical question.

‘Including those bonded to angels. So naturally, those angels would know, and they can’t keep their mouths shut, so the probability that within a week, everyone would know was about, oh, 98%. The probability that you’d miss it was around 60.’

‘You could have passed that on to us and made it zero, but you made yourself unavailable,’ Michael pointed out. ‘If we’re pointing wings.’

‘I knew you’d say that,’ they replied. ‘Also, just so you’d be aware, the demons have likely already remembered, and that will, again, spread quickly. But you already told Hamaliel to handle it, and since the angels know that they’re missing the memories and know all the facts, it won’t cause much of a commotion. Only among the Virtues, perhaps, but that’s not our problem, that’s his,’ Uriel said. More quietly and bitterly, they added, ‘God, that traitor and his stupid face. I’d rather not know.’

‘You’re—correct,’ said Michael. She swallowed. She didn’t realise that while the Virtues were most likely to remember thanks to their connection, the demons were _around them_. Damn it. ‘I’m glad to have the memories though. It may be a punishment, perhaps, but it gives us an opportunity to…’ She thought of Amenadiel and Hamaliel’s words once more. ‘Move on. I’m going to talk to him, once her returns from Hell.’

‘Oh, he returned two days ago,’ Gabriel said. ‘You threw me out before I could tell you.’

‘Oh.’ Michael crossed her legs. She couldn’t see patterns like Uriel; she did not see that coming. ‘Well. Soon, then. He deserves that apology.’

‘So you _are_ —’ Gabriel started, but she gave him a narrow look. He coughed. It sounded as natural as a frog chirping. ‘Well! What was that about not reporting to us, then? That’s insubordination. It needs to be investigated and punished accordingly.’

‘Investigated, yes,’ she said. ‘But not punished. Listened to. Fear of punishment is exactly why we did not hear of it—or, for example, of the fact that many of the low-ranking angels did not want to fight in the war. They know what happened with Aziraphale and don’t wish to suffer the same fate.’

There was a heavy silence. Uriel looked ready to protest, preferably with a dagger in hand, and Gabriel simply stared at her. He didn’t want to hear that. They’ve always been stubborn as mules; that’s why she’s never told them about her secret dealings with demons, really. They adjusted to change _badly_.

She wasn’t too excited about it either, but it was something to do. Something to fix. Something to ease off the guilt and regret. _It’s the present that matters, and how you make up for your past actions **now**._

Angels weren’t demons. They shouldn’t be punished for love and sympathy. It was what they were made of and made _for_ , and God was the only being in the Universe they truly had to obey and listen to—and She clearly wanted things to go this way. Not the war way.

‘Aziraphale wasn’t an outlier,’ Azrael stated. Michael wasn’t sure if they’ve known about that as well. She chose not to ask. The answer would probably be embarrassing[7].

‘Apparently not. I can’t believe we didn’t notice, but the lower spheres seem to have a vastly different opinion on—well, everything. Hamaliel told me. They don’t lie.’

Uriel scoffed. No daggers were drawn, thankfully.

‘Did they, er, say anything else?’ Gabriel asked. He smoothed over his perfectly straight tie once more.

‘They told me that we’re so focused on the paperwork that we forget to pay attention to anything else. They promised to report _everything_ to me from now on, and in return, I promised to look into things and listen to everyone like we used to before all—this.’ Michael gestured around the bare, white office. ‘I plan on keeping that promise. Being a Fighter does not only relate to war, after all. And you should do the same. Yes, I’m looking at you, Gabriel.’

‘This is a very sudden change of heart,’ he said, disbelievingly amused. Did he think that she was stupid? She could see right through him. ‘There are protocols, Michael.’

‘It was a very sudden return of memories, Gabriel,’ she replied sweetly. ‘And really, this has been in the works for a while now. One must learn to accept change and reconsider one’s opinion when one may be wrong instead of stubbornly walking in the same track and never getting anywhere. It’s called growth. Amen has quite a few things to say about it.’

They’ve been sort of—aimless in the past year. She wasn’t going to deny that. They were facing a wholly new eternity now, and they could only pretend that things haven’t changed for so long.

‘You of all angels should understand,’ Azrael told him. ‘You accepted your bond to Beelzebub despite her being a demon. It took you a few million years, but you did, and look at you now. You share a house in Norway.’

‘Fine, I’ll let you have this. You’re in charge,’ he told Michael, putting his hands up in the manner of giving in. Then he gestured at the three of them and back with a pointed finger. ‘I’m not talking to him though. I’m _not_.’

‘Neither am I,’ Uriel huffed. ‘And certainly not to Lucifer. I’m going back to Xandar now if you’ll excuse me, or I might just punch a hole through a wall. It’s not like there’s no one else to deliver the welcome-to-Heaven speech, is it?’

Then they were gone, as usual. Michael was giving them a month, maybe two before they’d come back without a word, dressed in their usual suit, and resume their duties. This has been happening since the—what did Hamaliel call it? Armageddoff? It was better to leave them to it[8].

‘I think I’ll pop for a visit,’ Azrael said with a grin. ‘I’m the only one Crowley likes.’

‘No wonder,’ Michael pouted. She wasn’t proud of it. ‘You’ve remembered the whole time.’

They leant closer to Michael, conspiratorially so, resting their head in their hand. ‘Sooooo. Hamaliel, huh? Have you been talking again?’

‘Only about this.’

‘Am I missing something here?’ Gabriel asked, looking between them.

‘They were Crowley’s second in command and hung around us a lot,’ Azrael said. ‘Remember? They’ve got very blue hair. They used to be friends. Actually, for a while I’d thought that they might—’

‘Alright, that’s enough,’ Michael cut them off. ‘We’ll meet again in a few days, and by we, I mean everyone, including the Nine and the Metatron. I’ll be issuing a statement. You’re dismissed for now.’

‘This is _my_ office,’ Gabriel reminded her.

‘We’re dismissed, then. Go collect souls, Az, and you,’ she turned to him, ‘should think about it. Lay the paperwork aside for a while. It doesn’t do good to bury the thoughts and emotions inside; it’ll make things worse. At least talk to Beelzebub about it. He was—still is—our _brother_. You’re allowed to have feelings about it.’

* * *

1 Gabriel had tried. But he couldn’t try and voice his thoughts to God without also voicing the questions, and that was just, no, _not_ happening. He _wasn’t_ openly questioning God. He was only… calmly wondering. And he could do that while looking at forms, and eventually distract himself from it.[✿]

2 If he was remembering casting out Lucifer and Crowley, he was also inevitably thinking about casting _her_ out, which was _awful_ even for a demon, reliving that over and over. She tried to block him and defeat him in this little mind game of whose-thoughts-are-stronger, but it wasn’t so easy, Hell-to-Heaven, and so her mood only grew fouler and more aggravated. The negative emotion feedback loop was infinite, but as far as she was concerned, he bloody _deserved that_.[✿]

3 If they had any mouth to smile with, she’d see them do exactly that, because they absolutely noticed and were very much pleased with their idiot siblings for showing a speck of compassion.[✿]

4 It was. It was also one of Raphael’s. They had worked on _that_ system together. It wasn’t a coincidence that Uriel had gone there, but not even they were really aware of that. It was more of a subconscious choice—all about the peace and distance from Earth and their siblings, they’d tell you.[✿]

5 The Silver City was timeless, but over the years, they have all got accustomed to measuring time according to the earthly clocks and calendars, because Earth was the most important planet in God’s Plan, and they had to know how long 6000 years was so they could start the Apocalypse on time. They were off by 22 years, but that was nothing to them, so it wasn’t even worth mentioning, really. The point was, everyone had a clock, a watch, or a smart device, customarily set to the GMT/BST zone. Unlike those in Hell, they actually worked, so while the sky outside told them nothing, the watches said that it was Sunday, 14 July 2019, 10:36 a.m.[✿]

6 Gabriel pursed his lips at that. He was torn between a sour grimace and a smug smirk, because he’d been _wrong_ about him, but he’d also been _right_. He’d thought that he wouldn’t be able to use it, but he had suggested he try in the first place, so. His brain decided for him, though, and chose to remain expressionless.[✿]

7 Azrael, as one of the Four Horsepersons, was a bit closer to the Apocalypse than the rest of them. They knew everything. They immediately understood that it wasn’t meant to be, and if there’d been whispers among the angels, well. Who were they to snitch? The truth would reveal itself, eventually.

Also, they were seriously contemplating miracling up some popcorn right now. Oh, this was _fun_.[✿]

8 Uriel was one of those who had _really_ wanted to fight. They were also beating themself up over being unable to see the outcome of the “war”. They should’ve seen that coming, Lucifer’s brat being all rebellious and refusing to start it, and Aziraphale and Crowley standing _together_ against everyone. But they failed. Again. So they took to relaxing by the water with a drink in hand and beating the hell out of volunteering non-humans. Lucifer would probably tell them to try having sex with them, but they didn’t listen to _anything_ Lucifer did, ever, and frankly, that just seemed disgusting. There was nothing quite like a good round of hand-to-hand combat, which they always _won_ , because _predicting patterns_ , obviously.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you'll see a reaction to angel!Crowley soon, more than once in fact! But in the meantime, there will still be one chapter from someone else's POV—this time set in Hell again :)
> 
> Also, Xandar is from Marvel for a change, if you were wondering. That absolutely does NOT mean that any of that stuff exists here. Only the Asgardians as their true mythological selves and probably some of the aliens, but, again, they don't meddle. Crowley and Loki have probably met though, lmao.


	44. Equal and Opposite Reaction

Beelzebub, who has always known who Crowley was and given precisely zero fucks about it, didn’t frankly understand what the fuss was about.

So you remembered something from two million years ago that you couldn’t recall last week, boohoo, what a big deal. That happened to everyone sometimes. It was all in the past and wasn’t the slightest bit important—and what was more, everyone already knew anyway, because even the dumbest of demons could figure out just why Crowley could sit on the Throne and use the staff.

Well, most demons _didn’t_ care, because most demons had few memories of him to begin with and being able to recall them didn’t make them hate him any more or less than they already did. “Once an entitled prick, always an entitled prick, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, bastard,” Hastur had grumbled and then went back to work.

Beelzebub suspected he’d actually forgotten everything anyway because his mind didn’t have the capacity for it, but that was irrelevant. The point was, most demons didn’t care, but then there were the former Virtues and that stupid Cult, and on top of that, almost the entire House of Lords was rendered useless for the day because _they_ remembered and—ugh—felt _guilty_ or something.

It was their third day in office.

They were demons, for fuck’s sake. Heavenly rank mattered exactly fuck-all. Anyone could fight their way to the top or drop their way to the bottom here; before Dagon took the job, the Master of Torments had been one of the _Lilim_. And she’d been a blessed good one.

But they still felt all weird and shifty about having bossed around and sneered at the Glorious Archangel Raphael, Satan’s own brother and their once-friend[1]. Which they now knew was what he’d been to them.

Honestly, if half of them haven’t already figured it out thanks to random association—Crowley’s been on everyone’s mind a _lot_ lately—or angelic bondmates, Beelzebub would tell Lucifer not to tell them for that reason exactly. But it _did_ happen because as of yesterday, nearly all of Heaven knew. So, here they were.

Holed up in Lucifer’s office, supposedly brainstorming ideas on what to do with the demons who didn’t let it go the second they found out as they should’ve. Beelzebub suggested mind control, but he wasn’t that kind of Devil, apparently. Soft bastard. He was lying on the sofa and grumbling for alcohol while she was sitting cross-legged on his chair and doodling on a piece of singed paper[2].

Since this _involved_ the members of the parliament, they couldn’t discuss it with them. It was all bloody tedious.

Having memories of her Fall playing out in her mind on top of that certainly didn’t help anything, because those came hand in hand with the memories of Raphael’s Fall and Gabriel just couldn’t bloody stop thinking about them. She was seriously considering flying all the way to the City and stabbing him with something at this point. Hellfire might not kill him, but it would still hurt like Hell.

Then he might know what it felt like and _shut the fuck up about it_.

 _I can’t exactly help it, sunshine,_ he said in her mind. She’d been too loud. _And don’t worry. It still hurts like hell._

 _Good_ , she shot back. _Because it should._

She didn’t want to think of the implications of that sentence. They, being obstinate and refusing to Discuss Things, have never really talked about it. They knew what had happened, knew their own tragic history, but the past has always gone on unaddressed. They both preferred it that way.

 _How’re they handling it?_ he asked, purposefully changing the topic.

_Some a bit too dramatically if you ask me. We got nothing done today. And guess what! The Cult went absolutely bonkers ‘cos not only do they know that they’re right, but they also remember that they’re right. They want to leave. It's a proper pain the arse. We’ve **just** put a stop to a rebellion._

They weren’t rebelling, per se. Not yet, at least. But their number was growing almost exponentially, and about half an hour ago, word got to Beelzebub that they threatened to tear the gates down if they didn’t get Earth Permits to do whatever it was they wanted to do with the poor sod whose fault this was. She knew that he wouldn’t like it though, so she was considering giving them those permits just to shut them up _and_ annoy him.

 _Yikes,_ said Gabriel. She didn’t want to ask where he learnt that word.

 _That’s an understatement_ , she snorted. _Lucifer asked though, and they didn’t really know anything before the mass return of memories. Guess it was subconscious. So that answers none of our questions._

 _Hmm._ He thought about it for a while. The next bit wasn’t meant to be so loud. _How’s…?_

 _Lucifer?_ She looked up from the desk and cast a glance to the left. He still hasn’t moved. _Sulking on the sofa ‘cos his new parliament is already stagnating. Do you feel sorry for him too all of a sudden?_

 _No,_ he said all too quickly. _Just professional curiosity._

_Uh-huh. You know you can’t really lie to me, right? Satan, you’re so fucking stubborn. Just admit that you care. You’ll disgust me, but you’ll feel better, and I’ll feel better in consequence, and maybe I won’t want to stab you quite so much._

Even days later, the mutual irritation didn’t seem to subside. If anything, it was getting worse, and not even Gabriel going for a run and trying to clear his head helped much. Not when the majority of Hell’s denizens acted the way they did, bless it.

 _Michael said a similar thing,_ Gabriel noted. A shudder ran down her wings. _I don’t like this. I don’t like that I care and I don’t like that she’s going around and promising change and fair treatment of employees who disobeyed the rules—and, oh, guess they don’t want to fight demons anymore! They want to do their planetside jobs in peace and so they don’t tell us anything! It’s like Aziraphale all over again, except it’s actually a third of the entire Heaven population. That’s how little they respect us, Bee. I should just smite them all._

 _Careful there, you sound a lot like one of us,_ Beelzebub snickered. A different train of thought lifted her eyebrows up so high that Lucifer noticed and snickered, mumbling something about Archdouches and weird telepathic mojo under his breath. He wasn’t completely lost in his mind, then. He just _chose_ to lie down and be incompetent.

Beelzebub flung a pen at him, which he caught without looking and started twisting between his fingers. She was still thinking about the hot news from Heaven, in the back of her mind[3].

 _Oh, fuck you,_ said Gabriel.

_I’d love to, but I’m stuck with this bunch of imbeciles for Heaven knows how long._

There was a pause, during which she absolutely didn’t try to relieve her migraine by recalling some of their better moments together, or how awfully good his wings felt wrapped around her and his cock buried inside her.

Gabriel didn’t notice. He was otherwise preoccupied, and that led to him asking if it really sounded like what was going on Down There, his own Upstairs situation.

 _If both Michael and Lucifer are aiming for reform, shit’s getting serious,_ she replied. She picked up another pen and started drawing flames on another piece of paper. _And yeah, the ordinary pawns like it. They’re siding with Crowley’s ideologies and don’t want to be involved in any of this higher-up ballyhoo, unlike the rebelling groups. So I’m guessing it does. Think the big G really planned that?_

_It—I mean, it **can’t** be a coincidence. Everything is going according to the Plan, whatever it actually says. We can’t know it. It’s frustrating. _

_I know. Just thinking about it is giving me a migraine._ She rubbed her temples with her fingers[4]. A Hell-to-Heaven conversation did that too if it went on for long enough. _And the angels? How’d they handle the memories?_

_They’re… fine, actually? I mean, they already knew thanks to **your** gossipy demons, so… I think it went considerably well? I guess they did move on. The Virtues have their own thing going on, but Hamaliel is handling them, apparently. They might go and bother Crowley, but that’s his problem._

_So might the demons._ If she gave them those permits, anyway. Would them leaving for a while relieve her pain? Most likely. It was probably worth a shot.

 _Oof. Let’s hope they don’t meet,_ said Gabriel.

 _If the stuff we’ve learnt is anything to go by, they might not fight each other,_ Beelzebub pointed out. That train of thought was still rolling and picking up passengers. It was just as likely that they might, though, and it would be bloody.

_I know. It’s horrifying._

They stayed silent for a while, just background noise in each other’s minds. Beelzebub observed Lucifer, still mucking about on a rather newly acquired settee and looking very tired and done with the world. Gabriel was still radiating pain and guilt he didn’t talk about along with all the indignation and pride he couldn’t deny.

And then he talked about it. _I’m sorry_ , he said.

 _What for?_ she asked even though she knew the answer. She didn’t throw in the _arsehole_ that was on the tip of her—mind.

_Doing what I’d done in the War. Striking you down. Betraying you._

_I got over it._

_We thought we did,_ he corrected her. He liked correcting people. That didn’t mean he wasn’t right. _But apparently not. And—look. This is really hard for me to say, and all these unexpected feelings are fucking difficult to process, but I need to say it or it’ll eat me up. Or Michael will. She’s just as stubborn as me but in a different way._

She sure was. They _all_ were, and Lucifer in particular. There was probably a story there, but that was the last thing on her mind. _Is there a po—_

 _I’m sorry_ , he said again. _I love you. I hate that I do, but I do. I still do. I’d take it all back if I could._

 _I wouldn’t._ Beelzebub gritted her teeth. The flame doodles became actual fire and managed to devour a few forms before she put it out with a wave of her hand. She didn’t notice the look Lucifer gave her.

 _I know. Please don’t actually stab me now,_ he virtually begged. Any other day, she’d laugh at him and do it just to see the pure shock on his face. _I had to say it, at least once._

_I won’t stab you, Gabriel. But believe me when I say I’d hate you more if you stopped yourself and didn’t send me down here. Don’t waste your regret on me. There are others who never wanted to Fall; not me_ [5] _. It’ll always hurt, knowing that it was you, but I wouldn’t take it back._

That was just the thing about angels. They’d rather reverse time and make sure all the Fallen stayed with them in Heaven, miserable as sin, before they accepted that sin was maybe a bit closer to their hearts and that they were different beings now, still the same but _different_. More like themselves.

_Alright. I know._

_I won’t say it,_ Beelzebub said, _but I wouldn’t be talking to you if I hated you. Now go, I need to slap Boss out of his sulk, or at least get the demons to get back to work. There will be elections soon_ [6] _._

Honestly. Drama queens, the lot of them. They could never do anything calmly[7]. She didn’t envy Heaven its quietness and quick acceptance. She didn’t, and it had nothing to do with what Gabriel has said a while ago. But, okay, it _would_ be easier if they _didn’t_ remember the flash bastard’s past life or at least could move the fuck on.

Gabriel’s thoughts left the forefront of her mind. She got up and walked over to the settee. ‘You have literally no excuse to mope about whatever you’re moping about, unlike the rest of Hell, so get the fuck up and show them they were right in choosing to accept you as King again,’ she barked at Lucifer, because that was comfortable, and crossed her arms to emphasise her point.

‘Oh, fine, _fine_ , but I’m getting myself a quad espresso with a shot in it before I face those morons again[8],’ he said, sitting up. He threw the pen onto the table. It bounced and ended up on the floor. His face quickly morphed into a sly one. ‘Gabe say anything interesting?’

‘Not really,’ she lied.

‘Well, naturally, he can’t possibly be interesting, ever,’ Lucifer snorted. ‘Your…’ He gestured at her body. ‘Glow is a bit brighter than usual though. Something spicy, then?’

‘I’d say go to Hell, but you’re already running the place,’ she shot back. ‘It’s none of your buzzzinezz. Let’s just get the coffee and whip the demonzz back into shape. If I hear _one more_ _sentence_ about the Archangel fucking Raphael, it won’t be pretty.’

She noticed that her migraine has subsided a little, however, and that—plus the only-slightly-stale doughnut she got along with her coffee—would make dealing with overopinionated demons a tad easier.

* * *

1 Well, some of them. Others, like Dagon, still wouldn’t hesitate to stab him if he got on their nerves, because they understood the importance of their angelic past: that is, that there was _none_. Beelzebub was glad for her at least. They could scoff at those morons together.[✿]

2 It was some lesser demon’s transfer request. There were flies and a bad caricature of Crowley being stabbed by Dagon drawn on it now. They’d have to resubmit it, just as the five other demons whose paperwork Beelzebub had ruined. It almost made her heart sparkle with malicious joy.[✿]

3 She did mention blocking him, didn’t she? She knew nothing about the goings-on in Heaven, only that the angels remembered Lucifer and Crowley now. That was in the newspaper _and_ whispered about just about _everywhere_.[✿]

4 Fuck, it was getting bad enough for her to consider humiliating herself enough to go and ask Crowley, the annoying bastard himself, to help her get rid of it if he were still in Hell. But he wasn’t. Honestly, _screw_ him and his healing powers.[✿]

5 _Apologise to Lucifer and Crowley, seriously, don’t be a self-important twat when it matters. Do something about **that**. They’re your brothers, and they want you to even if they won’t admit it because no one in this fucking family ever does_, she might have said, maybe. Hidden behind the actual words. It was the bit of angel and exasperated sister-in-law left in her. Gabriel was probably too thick to pick up on it though, which was all for the best; she had a reputation to uphold.[✿]

6 In about two months, really, but that was soon by Hell’s standards.[✿]

7 You see, another fundamental difference between angels and demons was this: demons had lots of opinions and weren’t afraid to express them at all times. They always moaned about anything and everything, and everything went straight to their superiors even at the risk of being discorporated for it. Angels, while often equally opinionated, kept their thoughts to themselves, never complained, and always complied. If something reached the Archangels, it was truly serious.

Sometimes, however, they might choose to interpret an order in their own—and technically never incorrect—way, which could still be called obeying but not exactly _obeying_. Yes, we’re looking at you, Aziraphale.[✿]

8 He didn’t sleep all that often, but he hasn’t had the chance to take a decent nap since he returned to Hell, and it was starting to take its toll. Earlier that day, he spent half an hour on the Throne and then about three more barking orders and trying to calm several different groups of demons, all of whom had a different problem to take up with Crowley, the House of Lords, or anyone really. He was glad he’d sent his brother home—but that was beside the point. Any more dealing with sudden crises, and he was going to snap and murder someone. Moping and quiet ruminating was much more preferable to that.[✿]


	45. The Healer and Death

It’s been three days.

Three days since he became an angel again, four since he came home and Aziraphale welcomed him by announcing that he could remember him and then proceeded to have a lot of questions—and also shagged the living daylights out of him, but that wasn’t the part he should focus on, nope, although it _had_ been beyond amazing and he’d very much like to do it again.

What he most definitely was focusing on was that he couldn’t focus on anything lately.

Yeah. He’d tried to answer Aziraphale’s questions as best as he could, with the help of a bottle or three of some pinot noir that had loosened his tongue enough for him to not only do weird things with it, but also to Talk. They’d covered everything. What he’d said on the beach and done in Hell, and how it might have been directly tied to his _condition_. Before, too, and his staff and everything Lucifer had said.

Lucifer had been his own subject, really. Once Crowley’d got going, he’d spent the better part of an hour ranting about him[1]. That was good; it meant he was distracted and didn’t have to think about the more unpleasant, Crowley-centric subjects.

Aziraphale didn’t think that was good, but Aziraphale only had partial access to his mind, so Crowley would be the judge of what was good and what wasn’t[2], thank you very much. Look, he even had the powers for it now.

Aziraphale was, of course, trying to be supportive. Overwhelmed, sure, and sporting that deep-in-several-thoughts, furrowed expression of his for about two days, but he continued to reassure him that he’d always be there for him, and would you like some tea my dear, and how about we go to the beach, or would you like a wing massage? I do so admire those wings of yours, but you don’t have to bring them out, of course, and you can turn your eyes into your usual serpentine ones if it bothers you—can’t you?[3]—I assure you that I don’t mind—

Except his mind betrayed his _please don’t, don’t do that to yourself_ , and Crowley wanted to hate him a little bit. But he couldn’t. His heart, drowning in sweet warm love and divine harmony, couldn’t hate anything, and especially not Aziraphale.

 _Nghh_ , Crowley said to all that, or maybe let out some more consonant-heavy syllables and added a vague wave of his hand and a _not really, thanks_ , and then left the room and let a sighing Aziraphale to his own devices. He usually brought him that tea anyway. Crowley drank it. He stared out of the window or at the screen of his mobile.

And he kept on adjusting.

Yesterday, he’d got in the Bentley and driven all the way to Dover and back, through Canterbury. He’d visited the Cathedral for the first time since the 12th century, and his feet, naturally, hadn’t burnt. The low-grade evil of his own making had made his skin _crawl_ as he’d driven down the M25, and wasn’t that a hilarious bloody paradox?

He’d taken a different route on the way back, for reasons unrelated to his post-Armageddoff aversion to the M25, which has only grown stronger thanks to certain recent events. The original one was longer, you see, and there was something to be said for driving by the sea with your windows rolled down.

At least the Bentley still refused to play anything but Queen and rearranged traffic around itself as needed. And at least he wasn’t allergic to his own car, because that would just be _rude_.

Today, he sequestered himself in his garden shed and took to stabbing the ground with a mattock there and clipping some wilted peony flowers there. The courgettes, cucumbers, and shallots were mostly ripe for picking, so he did that too and stored them in wooden boxes in the shed[4], where rot or mould or mice wouldn’t dare to touch them if they knew what was good for them. The two watermelons that managed to grow on the shed’s sunny side needed a bit of time yet; it was fine, time was all he had out here.

He didn’t have it in himself to threaten the plants with untimely destruction though, and they flourished anyway, just by being close to his radiant healing energy.

Or so went Aziraphale’s theory, but he knew bugger-all about plants[5], so.

Everyone seemed to have a lot of theories about everything lately, he noticed, and no real answers. Fantastic, honestly. No one ever had answers. That was why he was in this whole mess in the first place, in case you didn’t notice.

Done with inspecting the ripening melons, Crowley picked up a pair of shears and went to check on the roses.

Or so was the plan. As soon as he walked out of the garden shed, he nearly shed his _skin_ , currently being in his human form regardless. He jumped and dropped the shears, and then quickly tried to cover up ever doing so by hooking his thumbs in his belt loops and giving the intruder a lazy, crooked smile that hopefully made him come across as relaxed and not at all freaking out.

He was staring Death in the eye and wondering what he did to deserve yet _another_ unexpected visit from a family member.

Yeah, probably a lot, shut up.

Mind, they were about the only one he’d actually want to see. When they weren’t busy being the embodiment of overdramatic with their cloak of darkness and I-am-creation’s-shadow, they were probably the nicest and most sensible of them all. They’ve always made time for a chinwag in between jobs when they were in the area.

‘Rae! What brings you here again?’ Crowley asked, leaning a shoulder against the shed coolly. Or trying to, anyway.

‘Hey, Crowley,’ they said. He checked if the melons were still alive next to them, and they laughed at that. ‘Have some time for a chat?’

He was wearing his sunglasses, because of the sun, and his hair was long enough to cover the snake mark if he styled it that way, so they didn’t notice anything yet. Their eyes were scanning him though. It was one thing when Aziraphale knew, but someone else—

He peeled himself off the wood and jerked his head in the direction of the bench. He sat down with a heavy sigh, sparing a glance at the roses, and cocked an eyebrow.

‘I’ve got some news that you really ought to know,’ Azrael said, graver than they were a second ago. ‘Figured it was better I told you before someone else caught you by surprise[6]. _And_ I’m the only one you won’t chase away with a stick, am I right?’

Crowley remembered a few unfortunate incidents from the War. He’d done that to some of his siblings when they’d been getting in the way of his job, if one could call his staff a stick. Never to Azrael, though. It’s become a bit of a private joke between them.

‘I—er— _yeah_ ,’ he admitted. ‘Bit of an irony, given that I’m the Healer and you’re Death.’ He scratched his back of his neck, looking at the lapping waves and shapeless clouds. ‘What’s up?’

‘So err.’ They hesitated, not knowing how to begin. They ignored that awkward observation, at least. ‘Has Aziraphale recalled any old memories recently?’

‘He has, yeah,’ Crowley confirmed. He’s been worried that this visit was about that. His head whipped around to face them. ‘Shit, is it everyone?’

‘Yeah. Heaven _and_ Hell.’

‘Shit,’ he said again. He shifted in his seat, not unlike a snake suddenly hit with unpleasant news. ‘I thought so. How’d they—how’d they react?’

‘The angels and demons?’ they asked. ‘Or our siblings?’

‘Just hit me with all you’ve got. Rip the plaster off.’

* * *

1 They’d talked. A lot. Crowley had told Lucifer about bits of his time on Earth and with Aziraphale—at least the things he considered safe—and in exchange, he’d learnt an astounding amount of information about his life in LA, his friends, police work, and, last but not least, his sex life, because his brother was very proud of himself and nigh unstoppable once Crowley showed all but minimal curiosity. He’d rather _not_ have heard about the sex life part. The rest, though, had prompted one raised eyebrow after another.[✿]

2 Aziraphale was, unfortunately, right.[✿]

3 He could. He could transform into and from a snake anytime he liked, so of course he could make those eyes stick. He’s thought about it. But it would take effort this time, and he wasn’t going to lie to himself—after he spent all those years doing his damnedest to keep them hidden, he’d be foolish to keep doing it, however much the normal pupils and green irises still startled him in the mirror. It was tempting. But he’d meant what he’d said on the beach. He’d let the light in. _Physician, heal thyself_ indeed.[✿]

4 There were way too many for two beings who only chose to eat and cook recreationally. He might have to give some to the neighbours who didn’t grow their own. Or sell them somewhere. He’d known this would be an issue when he’d planted the vegetables, but the garden was one of the few hobbies he could maintain around here and he couldn’t _not_ go all in. He also grew onions, garlic, leeks, tomatoes, carrots, squashes, and beans, as well as an assortment of fruits and herbs. He planned on adding some exotic plants to his collection—maybe he’s mentioned that before. You know, olives, figs, pomegranates, coffee, various citrus, palm trees… maybe even mangoes. Aziraphale loved mangoes. It would be nice to have a taste of the warmer parts of the world where they’d spent the first 4500 or so years of their Earth assignment again. He had no doubt they would _thrive_.[✿]

5 At the Dowlings’ residence, Crowley was the one who’d done all the work. Aziraphale had only become the gardener because he’d have been an even worse nanny.[✿]

6 They asked Michael, but she made an excuse about the upcoming Upper Management meeting and told them that it wasn’t time yet. After Azrael confirmed that none of the angels and demons have visited the cottage yet, they made their decision and went before it was too late.[✿]


	46. Catching Up

Azrael took a moment to arrange their thoughts again. Crowley took that moment as an opportunity to get a proper look at their outfit: a pair of lilac overalls with little pastel skulls on them and a black t-shirt underneath. Weird. Sort of cool. Crowley liked this form of theirs much more than the skeletal one or the authoritative, grey-haired male one[1].

‘Gabe and Uri aren’t taking it very well,’ they finally said. ‘Uri went on a space holiday; I think they’re punching things and drinking a lot of those funny colourful drinks to cope. He’s—I don’t even know. Michael _roasted_ him; you should’ve seen it. He’s mostly still in denial. But she’s—changing. She’s in a lot of pain. Regretting things.’

 _What’s there to regret when he wasn’t even a demon anymore_ , he thought. He didn’t say anything and waited for them to continue. A less conscious part of his brain picked up that thread and made itself busy.

‘Amen is Amen. He’s got regrets too, but he’s pleased with the turn of events and keeping his distance. As for the others… thanks to your stint on the Throne, they already knew all the facts, so all it took was the Nine and Luci notifying them.’

‘Ah,’ Crowley said. One of his ethereal wings twitched. But it made sense, he supposed, what with the angel-demon couples scattered across Heaven and Hell and both sides’ tendency to gossip. He knew plenty about that from Aziraphale.

‘The angels mostly keep ignoring you,’ Azrael said, ‘but some of the Virtues are taking it less well. They’re not completely over it, which is understandable, but—yeah. Hamaliel might visit. Someone else too. Michael. She said she would.’

Michael. He almost didn’t expect this of her, but then, she’s always done things her own way. She had no qualms about working with demons and didn’t refuse food or drink like the rest of them, and Crowley could remember her face when she’d laid eyes on his four wings on the beach, the emotions it betrayed. _It really is you._

And oh, Hamaliel. He hasn’t seen them since the War. They’d been what you could call best friends Before, and suddenly _bam_ , not a word. He only knew that they’d been given his position and a seat on that council of theirs and therefore were, probably, still in touch with his siblings. Were they still friends with Michael, though? With Uriel?

Why did he even _care_? It’s been aeons.

(Angels. Angels cared. Ugh.)

‘And Hell? The Cult?’ he asked, hoping that none of those emotions leaked. He was more worried about them than about the angels because demons, no matter whose side they were on, were always more violent.

‘Same,’ Azrael said, predictably. The rest of it wasn’t so predictable. ‘Some demons are furious, but a lot are regretful too, apparently[2]. For treating you the way they did.’

‘Mhmm,’ Crowley said, jerking his head in acknowledgement. A part of him, however, fluttered with self-satisfaction and fought him over the control of his face. He won and didn’t smirk or throw his head back in victorious laughter.

Azrael shot him a meaningful, comforting look. ‘I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.’

‘Nhh. Not your fault,’ Crowley mumbled. ‘And you were right, better to know not to expect peace and quiet any time soon. Fuck, this whole _year_.’

First, there was an Almost-Apocalypse, then the relationship between him and Aziraphale moved hectically forward, then they were buying this cottage—and next thing he knew, he was back in Hell and then became an angel again.

‘It’s a lot, isn’t it? Ever since Luci came here…’

‘Yeahhh. You have no idea.’

‘At least you have Aziraphale,’ Azrael noted. They took to observing the clouds and various waterfowl together with him. On the beach, people were talking and shouting and splashing about.

‘I’m going stir-crazy in this house though,’ he admitted, letting out an air-blowy nasal laugh. ‘I drove away yesterday, almost got on a ferry to France. I know it’s not fair to him, but so much has happened and I just—need—’

‘Time away,’ they said with a smile. ‘You’ve just got bonded. It’s not unusual, you know.’

He knew. It was like post-marital depression or something, multiplied by hundred because of the timeshare business that was going on in their minds and souls. He’d performed enough of these rituals in the past to know that not all angels coped well with it in the first few months, or years even. He knew enough from Gabriel and Beelzebub. It was true that he’s been closing the doors between them more often than not in the last few days—he felt wrong, doing it, but he did it anyway, because no matter how much help Aziraphale could be, he needed time to figure himself out on his own. For 6000 years, they didn’t know each other’s thoughts, so this wasn’t any different. Right?

But it wasn’t about Aziraphale at all. He was just caught up in it because Crowley’s past has caught up to _him_.

Crowley swallowed and said, ‘No. That’s not everything.’

He took off his sunglasses and turned so that Azrael could see his eyes. He pointed at the golden snake, previously covered by red hair, for good measure.

Their smile widened.

‘Do you know what Lucifer did when Rose, brother?’ they asked, and Crowley was actually taken aback by them _not_ being taken aback and sensing that he wasn’t exactly over the moon about this. But then again, Death knew everything.

‘Tried to cut off his wings and do anything to make it go away,’ he huffed. He tended to be overdramatic too. ‘I know[3].’

‘See? You’re not the worst disaster in the family,’ they said. They narrowed their eyes. ‘You _were_ thinking about it, weren’t you? But you didn’t actually try.’

‘Hnk. No. Well, not really.’

He knew it was possible to Fall again, and he knew of a few ways to do it. Or guessed, anyway. But the thing was, now that he was reminded of what it felt like to be an angel, he didn’t want to give it up ever again.

He hadn’t wanted it, but he wanted it so, so much.

It was a terrifying thought—because in the back of his mind, he was still afraid that it was some sort of a sick trick, something temporary, a punishment. He worried that this worrying would be exactly what took it away. All the doubts and questions. There were always questions. If he did it to himself, he could undo it too, which Lucifer had confirmed, actually, when he’d told him that he hadn’t only Risen but Risen, Fallen, and then Risen _again_. 

‘Permission to hug?’ Azrael said, and he blinked at them for a second before he gave them the go-ahead.

They shuffled closer and embraced him, first with their hands and then with their wings. Their aura was different than Aziraphale’s. He wasn’t used to it, but he’s also known it for far longer than he’s known Aziraphale. He relaxed into the hug and rested his chin on their head.

He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

‘Welcome back,’ they whispered against his chest. Their wings were blacker than his, blacker than _obsidian_ , and it was comforting, in a way.

‘Yeah, well.’ He sniffed. ‘I’m not coming back Up There though.’

They withdrew and looked him dead in the eye, still holding him close with their wings. ‘You live on Earth. You make your own choices,’ they said. ‘And if you’re looking for a change of scenery, or someone else to talk to, or a place to hunker down, there’s always LA. I heard that Doctor Linda has really good insight into celestial family drama[4].’

‘Dunno. I don’t like America,’ he said. It was an excuse. ‘Luci’s been pestering me about coming to his club. Ugh.’

‘Just a suggestion,’ they said, patting his shoulder. They winched in their wings. ‘Also, you might want to read this week’s Celestial Observer. Everything I didn’t tell you will be on the front page.’

He didn’t know how they knew that Aziraphale still subscribed to it, but he wasn’t surprised. The newspaper came out every Friday, which was two days from now, and it had to be big if they already knew what was going to be in it. Big enough for Aziraphale to show it to him anyway. There’ll be a meeting, and that meeting will be about _him_.

‘Hey, Azrael?’

‘Mhm.’

‘You won’t—’ He put his sunglasses back onto his nose and gestured at his face. ‘Tell anyone about this, will you? I don’t really want them to know.’

Yet.

‘Sure,’ they nodded. They got to their feet. ‘Well, I’ve got to fly now, but take care, okay? Don’t be an idiot and mope about. You can shine brighter than the stars, Crowley. You _made_ some of those.’

‘No promises. I’m excellent at moping about,’ he said as if it were something to be proud of.

They sighed and shook their head, amused. ‘Also, _don’t_ sleep for a century. That’s being the biggest idiot imaginable. You almost had Aziraphale discorporate with worry back then, and he worries.’

They glanced at the window above the bench. Aziraphale was puttering in the living room, which was on the other side of the house, vaguely aware of a non-threatening presence in the garden and slightly worried indeed. Crowley suspected they could see him all the way from here, despite the net curtains and walls and furniture.

‘Okay,’ he singsonged. ‘Bye, Rae. Get out of my garden already.’

‘See you around, then,’ said Azrael, the meaningful look making an appearance once more. They vanished without a trace.

* * *

1 That was the one Azrael donned least often. On the job, they’d usually show their business face, and the female one was reserved for their siblings, children, and Ella Lopez, whom they met when she was a child too. The male one was reserved for the rare moments when neither would work, like when the Horsepersons needed to get into the air base. It was awful, they thought, but sometimes, looking like a middle-aged white man was the only way to get something done quickly and smoothly.[✿]

2 They heard it from Ariel, who heard it from Sandalphon, who heard it from Gabriel, who heard it from Beelzebub.[✿]

3 That was another item on the long list of things he’d learnt during one of their office talks in Hell.[✿]

4 And that wasn’t all. They put Lucifer and Ella, two of their favourite people, together before. They knew that they wouldn’t succeed here, but they did think that their third favourite person should be with them too, at least for a while, and now that they knew that Lucifer and he were getting along again, there was even hope for it. Ella could cheer up _anyone_ , and Crowley really needed that right now. They should absolutely meet.[✿]


	47. The Meeting

The monthly Upper Management meeting was starting in five minutes.

That wasn’t unusual. It happened on the third Friday of each month, as the word ‘monthly’ might suggest. The meeting itself, however, was probably going to be one for the books, and it almost, _almost_ made Michael nervous.

The revelation of the regained memories had gone about as smoothly as they could have prayed for. There were lots of quiet whispers everywhere, now that Michael cared to acknowledge the possibility of them and actually listen, yes, but that was generally the end of it. No one had kicked up much of a fuss. Regardless, there were still some… less than agreeable comments regarding the Archangels.

Her, specifically[1].

Hamaliel had warned her, and she tried to take it in her stride. Particularly given that she couldn’t deny the truth of it. She’d been responsible for casting Raphael out, and even though she’d lacked the memories of it as well, she couldn’t help but feel guilty of deliberate ignorance too.

Crowley had mentioned it. They could have looked and found him if they’d wanted to. They could have tried to remember. Instead, they’d chosen to ignore all the feelings and build a new Heaven.

That was why this meeting had a bit of a different agenda than just the usual paperwork, progress reports, and updates on the Opposition—though they’d be covering those too later, naturally; it wouldn’t do to disrupt a perfectly good order. There were slides to be shown.

Michael straightened her perfectly white and perfectly straight blouse and walked into the conference room, tablet in hand.

Everyone was already seated around the spotless white round table, unsurprisingly so. It would not do to be late to a meeting in Heaven. Lateness was Hell’s business. The only empty seat was hers, situated between Gabriel’s and the Metatron’s. Even Uriel and Amenadiel have shown up[2].

She gave all fifteen angels a collective, polite nod and sat down. Gabriel looked to be on the verge of boredom; Amenadiel had a curious look on his face. Hamaliel, sitting right opposite Michael[3], gave her a nod and a slight smile in return.

After this is over, she might take them up on that drink.

‘I’m sure this has been a busy month for everyone,’ she began, ‘and more so for us. We all know what happened recently.’

‘Crowley,’ said Sandalphon, scrunching his nose in distaste. He’s never been partial to him, angel or demon. ‘He ruined everything for us, demon.’

Everyone stared at him.

‘Now, don’t talk about our brother like that, Sandy,’ said Amenadiel, who gave nicknames to everyone and wasn’t afraid to use them in official meetings. Azrael smirked, for some reason. ‘None of it was his fault.’

‘I thought it was?’ Gabriel said, grimacing.

‘We don’t know for certain,’ Amenadiel replied.

‘He’s _your brother_ , now, is he?’ Sandalphon said. Michael caught a glimpse of the gold on his teeth. ‘Pathetic.’

On his right, Haniel put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a look. ‘Sandalphon.’

‘Quiet, please,’ said Michael diplomatically before the situation escalated. ‘I haven’t finished. Let’s summarise the recent events, shall we?’ She looked around the table, and when no one spoke, she continued. ‘There has been a series of revolts in Hell, which has led to the Adversary returning from his, er, holiday on Earth and reclaiming his throne—with the help of the demon known as Crowley, or, as we all know him, the former Archangel Raphael.’

She tapped at her tablet and pulled up a file, which she then moved to the centre of the table with a swipe of her fingers. The hologram glowed a faint blue, and no matter where one sat, it always displayed its front to them. The front being Raphael’s file.

It brought back more memories. She maintained a practised neutral expression.

‘As a number of us have personally witnessed, he has recently bonded with the rogue agent Aziraphale,’ she said, casting a glance at Haniel. As the leader of the Principalities, she was his immediate supervisor, although as Earth Agent, he’d often reported directly to the Archangels. She didn’t react this time, or at least not visibly so[4]. ‘And thanks to Amenadiel, we also know that he has been using his staff repeatedly, thus revealing his identity to all demonkind.’

She turned a page in the file, and the hologram displayed the staff rather than his face. She liked to think that it was easier to look at, but the loop on her mind, showing her sword clashing against it, proved otherwise.

‘Involuntarily,’ supplied Amenadiel.

‘At first, perhaps, but then he chose to do it, if you and I both remember correctly,’ she said. ‘Regardless of the circumstances, it led to the spreading of the news among angels as well. Unbeknownst to us.’

Barachiel cleared his throat. Zadkiel pursed xyr lips to keep xemself from laughing. Azrael said, ‘Well…’

‘I am getting to that,’ Michael said, throwing them a look. She reorganised her thoughts and remembered how she was getting there. ‘Then, for a reason unknown, our memories collectively returned, which, we presume, was the work of the Almighty.’ She turned to the Metatron, sitting on her left. He chose to be corporeal for once. ‘You’re the Voice of God; do you have any information regarding this issue?’

‘I’m afraid that I do not,’ he said. ‘The Almighty works in mysterious ways, and while they do often involve me, I was as astounded as you to find the obstructed memories resurface.’

‘Thank you. Well, we must not question Her will, must we?’ She smiled, although it was a lie, because she herself has been fairly busy doing just that for the past week. All of them have. They weren’t going to talk about it, because Talking About It would make it too real.

She took the image of the staff down and didn’t replace it with anything else for the time being.

‘What we must do is think about our actions,’ she said. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you,’ she gestured at the Nine, ‘have kept certain things from us—or rather, not told us immediately as required. You handle your subordinates’ paperwork, schedules, wages, free time, and so on and pass only the necessary documents on to us, and that has been our policy for a long time—but I think that it’s clear to all of us that the meaning of ‘necessary’ has somewhat shifted over the centuries.’

Sandalphon looked at Gabriel uneasily. Gabriel crossed his arms. Michael saw a few startled or nervous looks on some of the others’ faces.

‘I trust Hamaliel has informed you of our agreement?’ she asked.

‘I have,’ they said. The others nodded or hummed in affirmative.

‘Then you know that from now on, you are going to inform us of anything significant, any day at any time, even if you might think that we won’t be pleased to hear it. This is Heaven; absolute honesty is one of our top policies and priorities.’

She folded her hands neatly on the table, emphasising the pregnant silence in the room.

‘And as such, anyone who has a problem, a request, or an opinion they wish to share, they are welcome to speak to me without fear of being severely punished or rejected, Seraph to guardian angel. Like Aziraphale did, only with less dithering and more directness, I hope. There will also be a Heaven-wide survey at one point in the near future, the details of which we have yet to discuss.’

She’s had days to think about this. She’s already talked to Pravuil about the idea, and they agreed that the records might need to be officially updated and that, for the sake of organisation and the future of Heaven itself, it would be effective to ask the angels to honestly state their view on certain matters, such as demons, wars, or the Archangels’ leadership and how it has progressed. If three-quarters of an entire sphere hadn’t wanted to fight, what else was there?

Uriel scoffed, and Gabriel rolled his eyes. Haniel smiled. Azrael gave her a thumbs-up.

‘This wasn’t the Almighty’s order,’ the Metatron pointed out.

‘Not as such, no, but She hasn’t given us direct orders for some time, Metatron,’ Michael replied. ‘Besides, this is a result of what can only be Her work.’

‘You will be speaking to our subordinates directly, then?’ asked Seraphiel.

‘Like you speak to the planetary agents? To Aziraphale?’ Haniel added.

‘Yes. They can express their concerns or ask for our guidance[5]. The, er, situation with Aziraphale will hopefully not repeat itself. We are angels, not demons. We should not execute our own for love, or for wanting to do their jobs in peace.’

She remembered what Amenadiel had said the first time Gabriel summoned them to tell them about Raphael, right before they’d both left the office and she’d gone to the sea to think.

_You should be ashamed, sentencing one of our own to death by Hellfire for loving someone. You could expect that from demons, but we should do better. And maybe if you spent a bit more time on Earth, you’d realise how wonderful that is, too. Humans. Everything. We’ve spent so long thinking about war and drowning in paperwork that we’ve forgotten our original purpose, love and guidance. That’s what we should show to everyone. We’re angels!_

She hoped to make him proud.

‘Well done, sister,’ he said, smiling and clapping slowly. ‘Well done. This is beginning to look like a Heaven I can stand with again.’ He stopped clapping and raised an index finger. ‘I have a question though: will this _freedom_ also protect my son? Angels who choose to love humans, demons, or any other non-ethereal beings? Because it happens, and we are still frowned upon for it. By other angels.’

Several faces in the room quite literally frowned at him, Uriel and Gabriel among them. He was right; many angels saw his son as a new angel to join their ranks, but many would be happiest if he were drowned like the Nephilim before him. And she wasn’t even going to talk about demons. She wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of those relationships either, even if she tolerated their continuous existence.

‘Well. It’s not _supposed to_ happen, but if it does, the angel in question won’t be terminated for it. And the Nephil can be entered in our records as a member of the Host currently residing on Earth and not to report for duty,’ she said. ‘Will that do?’

He hummed and then said, ‘For now, your word is good enough. Thank you.’

‘Aziraphale bonded with a demon and he’s perfectly fine, isn’t he?’ noted Gabriel.

‘You’re afraid of him,’ Pravuil pointed out. ‘There’s a difference.’

‘He could probably kill any of us if he wanted to,’ Michael admitted[6], ‘but he does not. He’s content to be left alone to live in his cottage with the demon. He’s only protective of him. Our own brother.’

‘And the Adversary? Is he your brother too now? Are we not fighting demons anymore because of a few memories?’ asked Camael. She was a Power, a warrior trained to fight demons and evil spirits. She was one of those who’d taken the lack of a war sorely.

‘He has always been,’ Michael said. ‘That does not mean I wish to acknowledge that in any way. I cast him out; he’s in Hell. He’s not my concern unless he declares war on us[7]. And demons remain our enemy, as they always will. But just as we have not prosecuted those bonded to them pre-Fall, we won’t prosecute anyone who does not personally want to fight them. Which, as you know, and so do we now, many angels don’t.’

‘Which I think is ridiculous,’ Gabriel said, like a hypocrite. ‘Who are we if not fighting demons?’

‘Helping people and influencing them towards good,’ Hamaliel said. ‘Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes. We shouldn’t just do _good_. We should do _better_.’

‘I remember Raphael too. He was one of us,’ remarked Camael. ‘But he’s a demon. Having those memories does not affect me in the slightest. Why do you suddenly care?’

‘You weren’t there,’ Michael said, fingers clenching around the tablet. ‘You haven’t buried so much pain of casting out two brothers with your own hand when you could have stopped the second and then been hit by it all at once millions of years later, when you grew comfortable with the knowledge of it. You haven’t been at the bonding ceremony.’

To Camael, Raphael had just been one of the angels above her. Her Powers supervised the movements of the stars and planets he’d helped create. Her Powers were the choir below the Virtues, formerly his. She might have met him a few times, but they hadn’t been much more than acquaintances, and outright enemies now that he was Fallen.

Michael was one of his closest siblings. There was a difference. So yes, a few memories plus everything Amenadiel, Hamaliel, and Crowley and Aziraphale have said in the past few months, as well as the uncertainty that has prevailed in the City since failed Armageddon, might have made her re-evaluate her view of certain things.

She’s always adapted, hasn’t she?

‘I’ve talked to him two days ago,’ said Azrael. ‘Crowley. The guy’s practically a ball of anxiety because of this whole thing. He didn’t ask for it either.’

Hamaliel looked stricken to hear that. Michael was glad that someone else has gathered the courage to go when she hasn’t.

‘And it’s _Crowley_ , not Raphael, not anymore. Not ever,’ Azrael reminded them. ‘They’re one and the same person, and that’s Crowley. Please learn it and respect it.’

‘He’s a demon, why should we—’

‘We don’t call other demons by their angel names, do we?’ Haniel pointed out, cutting off Zaphkiel’s inappropriate question. ‘And we remember them.’

‘Good point. Thank you,’ said Michael. Azrael was right. She had two separate images in her head—Raphael was Raphael, and Crowley was some demon she’s met precisely once if she didn’t count the encounter in Hell, which was really _Aziraphale_ disguised as him. But they were the same being. The same brother.

It would be hard to get used to that, but she should probably try.

She cleared her throat and opened a document, which she sent to the centre of the table.

‘In any case, I have already composed a memo and will send it to all angels, whether they currently are or aren’t in Heaven.’ She gestured at the projection and gave them a few seconds to read it. ‘Furthermore, I will be spending some time visiting your departments and all planetary agents, as we used to in the old days. Like Raphael—like Crowley used to. He talked to everyone; he knew everyone. They weren’t afraid to tell him things and treat him as one of them, not one of us high above. Lucifer was a talker, but Crowley was a listener as well as that. That was why, I suspect, he was so popular and why all this affected some of us so deeply. Even some of the demons, I hear.’

She took the memo down and opened a completely different file on her tablet. She passed it to Gabriel.

‘That will be all for now,’ she said before any more words could come out of the few opening mouths. ‘Now, Gabriel will be taking the floor and moving onto our regular subjects. Gabriel?’

‘Ah, yes, of course.’ He projected the first slide of what was going to be a rather long, rather detailed, and rather boring presentation. ‘First, I’d like to take a look at the June-July productivity stats…’

_I am proud of you_ , Hamaliel mouthed at Michael through the bluish hologram, and it made her feel slightly better as she focused her attention on the report and blinked the war memories away.

* * *

1 And Gabriel, but someone always had something to say about Gabriel, herself included. He was the unpopular boss who tried a little too hard and thought he was hilarious when in truth, people only laughed _at_ him, not _with_ him. None of it reached his ears unless she or one of the Archangels said it, but it was the kind of watercooler gossip Michael definitely knew about. [✿]

2 She’d sent them both a quick but powered text: **UM meeting today. You’ll want to hear this.** They listened, despite everything. Interesting.[✿]

3 The seating order was fixed. This has been a coincidence since the beginning of corporate meetings.[✿]

4 Haniel was proud of Aziraphale. She’s always been fond of him and his devotion to Earth, the place he was set to guard and protect. The War… well, it was for the better that it hadn’t happened. She’d also submitted an official complaint about the execution on the first post-Amageddoff meeting, because who did Gabriel think he was to be killing her subordinate without telling her? Honestly. Thank God he didn’t die. And Crowley? Good for him. Aziraphale was bonded to a former Archangel now! Served the rest of them right, she thought.[✿]

5 They used to, back before the War. They truly were the older siblings to everyone and were there to lend a helping hand or an ear to listen. They were the closest to God and shone brighter than anyone else—literally, they were more powerful—and everyone was drawn to them, admired them. But then they became busy and distant, and only ever available to the leaders and supervisors. All except Raphael and Samael. Then the War happened, and it was no surprise that a third of the angels followed Lucifer and his ideas. He still talked to them. He made them see the same faults in their Parents’ designs and his siblings’ treatment of them.[✿]

6 Unaware of the fact that he no longer possessed the ability to summon Hellfire, of course.[✿]

7 Hamaliel gave her a look. They were right to. She _wasn’t_ going to go and talk to Lucifer, but the loss was still there and they knew it. They’d talked about it.[✿]


	48. I've Been Thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've passed the 100K mark!!! I certainly didn't expect that when this story first started... :')

It was Friday, and no one has come and bothered him yet. If Crowley didn’t know how long it took demons to get Earth Permits and angels to gather enough courage to do something for themselves in their free time, he’d almost be suspicious.

But as it were, he accepted the gift horse for as long as it would stay before running off when the intruders came and didn’t enquire too hard into it. He’d read the Observer at breakfast today, while Aziraphale was spreading a thick layer of home-made jam[1] and sweetened cream on his scones and he was munching on a piece of more-or-less dry jammy toast and drinking espresso as dark as his wings.

Not soul, not anymore. There went the jokes—right out of the window and into the stratosphere. The closest coffee analogy would probably be latte at this point, and he’s never _liked_ latte. It wasn’t the kind of coffee demons drank. Or former demons.

He was seriously miffed about the jokes.

Anyway. He’d read the Observer, and true enough, alongside the stoic face of the Archangel Michael, the front page sported the headline ‘Top Management Press for Changes in Organisation’ and the beginning of a three-page article about the meeting that took place earlier that day. And he was mentioned in it. A lot[2].

It was—well, it was about time the angels changed their ways. Awfully stiff, they were, despite constantly innovating and “going with the times”. Awfully stiff righteous pricks who never thought for themselves and forgot what kindness looked like. But they weren’t always.

He remembered them differently. He remembered his siblings, who shook their heads at him always sneaking off to talk to Thrones and Principalities and everyone in between and didn’t understand why he spent so much time in the stars but supported the young angels and enabled his adventures anyway. He remembered grooming each other’s wings and cheering at Gabriel’s bonding ceremony. He remembered how much it hurt when five stood against two in the end.

That was the biggest betrayal of his entire existence. No one was the same afterwards.

They seemed to be trying to bring a sliver of that back though, and he was very fucking surprised, that’s what he was. He hadn’t expected them to go _that_ far. He hadn’t _actually_ expected them to feel guilty or remorseful or whatever it was that made them act when they got their memories back.

He’d foolishly wished they would, but he didn’t _think_ —

Well, it wasn’t all of them, not if Azrael’s words were anything to go by. Still. What a twist. Have Amenadiel’s words got to them too? Aziraphale’s? Have they finally started to think about them?

It all gave him this odd, buzzing feeling in his stomach that, if it had to be described, was closest to telly static warmed in a microwave oven. He didn’t quite know what to do about it. The one reasonable solution he found was going out into the garden and lighting a fag. Mint-flavoured and deprived of all the unhealthy chemical stuff they put in them these days. Staring at the waves and blowing out smoke always relaxed him, because he felt like it should.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ said a voice above him, and Crowley tilted his head back and rested it against the brick wall. Aziraphale’s pale curls were leaning out of the window. Gentle comfort and love were rolling off of him, almost masking the trepidation underneath.

He unclenched his mind and let himself be seen, as well as see into Aziraphale’s mind. And eyes. It was cloudy today, so he wasn’t wearing sunglasses. It was—okay. He’d got used to discarding them around Aziraphale when he had snake eyes, because Aziraphale was safe, so there would be no sense in wearing them now, eh?

That was what he kept reminding himself of.

‘Means a whole new thing now, doesn’t it?’ Crowley said, absently flicking off the ash. He’d painted his nails on a whim earlier. Metallic dark green. ‘Just, dunno. Same old. Can’t stop thinking about—that. Them.’

Aziraphale hummed. ‘It was quite surprising, wasn’t it? I certainly did not expect Michael to go this far.’ There was a pause, but Aziraphale couldn’t hide his delight. It felt like vindication. ‘Do you think they’ll really keep it up? That would be nice, wouldn’t it?’

‘Nyeh,’ said Crowley. He took a drag on his cigarette and offered it to Aziraphale, who declined with a thought. ‘It would, I suppose. I mean, it’s none of my business what they do, y’know, heavenly politics stopped being my concern the moment they kicked me out, but I bloody hope that they’ll keep it up. For the sake of the low-ranking sods who’re paying the highest price[3].’

Aziraphale hummed again. He’d been one of them. He reached out and ran a hand through Crowley’s hair. _And how are **you** feeling, my dear? Really?_

‘Conflicted as Hell,’ he snorted. He took another drag and blew a perfect ring. Or a halo, depending on one’s perspective. He sat upright and didn’t look Aziraphale in the eye. ‘I don’t want to talk to them, but I also do. They’re my— _I_ was the one who said we should learn to live with each other rather than continue this petty family fight, or something along that line. And they remember now; we’re finally on the same page! Which has been in a—a completely different book than everyone’s thought! It’s—pff. Too much is happening at once, and somehow I feel like it’s all my fault.’

He inhaled and blew out more minty smoke. According to the newspaper, this was God’s doing. Everyone thought it was. Was it though? No one but Aziraphale knew about the Thing that had happened right before everyone miraculously remembered his past life, so they had no reason to doubt, but… yeah. He definitely did.

‘That’s what you get for painstakingly avoiding your own life for so long, dear,’ Aziraphale said, patting his shoulder like a very smug angel. ‘The past always catches up with you, and the later it does so the worse the consequences may be. What did I once say about evil sowing the seeds of its own destruction…?’

‘Shut up,’ drawled Crowley. ‘You’re right, but also shut up.’ He blew out his cheeks and turned to him, one arm stretched along the backrest. His voice felt tight, then. ‘Sorry for dragging you into this, angel. I know this isn’t what you thought you were signing up for when you married me. Hell, I didn’t sign up for it either; why d’you think I’ve been hiding for so long?’

‘Well, I chose to stick around despite your warnings, didn’t I? If Gabriel and the lot haven’t been able to keep me from you before, they’re hardly going to do so now,’ Aziraphale said resolutely. ‘Not when we’ve only just started exploring this—between us. Angel.’

Crowley let out a hiss he couldn’t quite control. His brow was all furrowed, he suspected. ‘No, really, shut up or you’re sleeping on the sofa.’

Theoretically. Aziraphale didn’t sleep, so it wouldn’t bother him the slightest; he’d just read all night. It was more about the principle of the thing.

‘Oh dear, I’m sorry,’ he said, biting his lip. He wasn’t really that sorry at all. ‘It was a joke.’

Crowley huffed. He finished the cigarette and threw the butt down. It vanished before it hit the lawn. Into the nearest bin, probably. Littering, he’d decided, just wasn’t worth the trouble, demon or not. ‘Just don’t do that. It’s my thing.’

‘Oh, fine, you fiend. Will you come in now? Or are you going out again?’ He assessed the grey, puffed-up clouds loitering in the sky. ‘I believe it’s going to rain soon.’

‘Actually,’ Crowley said and quickly cut himself off, but it was too late. He’s already said it, and there was no good coming back from an ‘actually’ when your husband could read your mind. He might as well get it out. ‘I’ve been thinking. I think I—ffh—I might go to LA after all.’

‘Ah,’ said Aziraphale, for lack of anything better to say at the moment. He knit his brows for a second and then raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly, eyes widening. ‘For how long?’

‘No idea. Nmhh. I just thought, Amenadiel’s there. He knows this stuff. Rising. And Linda too. And I’d rather talk to him than,’ he swallowed, ‘Michael.’

Listen. Amenadiel had turned out to be a somewhat friendly face even before he remembered, and if there was someone other than Aziraphale and Azrael he was fine with Knowing About Him, it was him. Michael had—she’d Done It, and she could remember that now. She was complicated. Not that he ever dreaded anything, having lived in Hell, but he did dread that conversation.

Even if, deep down, brotherly pride made itself known and added to the staticky feeling. What she was doing—it was no coincidence that she promised to look out for the little angel _now_.

‘Oh, that’s—good, yes. Rather.’ Aziraphale considered this, looking into the middle distance. After going through four different expressions, as he did sometimes[4], he looked down and decided, ‘I’ll go with you.’

Crowley got up and knelt on the bench instead, face-to-face with him. He took his hands; warmth spread from them and coiled around his own. He held his gaze and cleared his throat. ‘I know we’ve looked forward to finally being together when I was in Hell, and I’ve barely just got back, but I’ve got to—I need to go alone. ‘Sides, you’d hate LA, it’s all cars and glass-and-steel buildings and twice as many people as in London. City of Angels my arse, ‘s overrated.’

It was a City of Fallen Angels at best, he thought. Or, more precisely, a City of Formerly Fallen Angels Who Managed to Rise. Exactly the place for him, like Azrael’d said. Not for Aziraphale. He loved him, but he really needed to do this on his own. It was about _his_ siblings and _his_ issues.

Aziraphale let out a sigh. ‘I understand. But I’m only letting you go because we can talk whenever now.’ _Like this. So I’ll know if something happens. And you **will** talk to me, won’t you?_

‘Yes sir, of course sir,’ Crowley said, mouth snapping into a grin. ‘Well, maybe not all the time, but I’ll check in; I know what you’re like when you’re uselessly fussing over something.’

‘Thank you,’ Aziraphale nodded. He brought his hands to his lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. ‘And thank you for making an effort to do something. Fretting doesn’t become you.’

He’s told him twice already within the past two days.

‘Can’t exactly be Local Agent of Chaos,’ Crowley said bitterly. ‘There aren’t really people around. It’s no London, this place[5].’

‘Cause some chaos and petty mischief in LA then, that’ll cheer you right up.’ Aziraphale patted his hands. ‘Or visit a children’s hospital, whatever steers your boat these days.’

‘ _Floats_ your boat, Aziraphale.’ Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale beamed. Crowley leant in for a kiss and wiped that beam right off his face with his clever serpentine tongue.

He wasn’t sure what the answer to that was himself.

‘Right,’ he said, hovering over his lips. He pulled away and climbed off the bench. ‘I’d better go before I change my mind, because I’m only about 52 per cent sure about this, and the longer I don’t go, the lower that number will get. Won’t be long, serpent’s honour.’

‘Alright then, off you go. Don’t get into too much trouble, will you.’

‘You know me, angel,’ he said. ‘I always get into trouble.’

‘How foolish of me to forget,’ Aziraphale said, deadpan. A second later, his features softened once more. ‘I love you. Don’t _you_ forget _that_.’

Crowley put a hand on his heart and gaped in mock-offence. ‘He thinks so little of me! The gall!’

Aziraphale chuckled. Crowley pressed his fingers to his lips and then sent him an air kiss. A very dramatic one. He threw him a wink, too, and with the image of Aziraphale standing in that window, he teleported right outside Amenadiel’s house, sunglasses atop his nose and mobile in his pocket. He’s been there before, so why bother flying over the ocean again?

He looked around. Right. He probably should have called first, because he didn’t even know if anyone would be home on Friday—morning, actually, because time zones. Very early morning. Ugh. They’d be home, but they most likely wouldn’t be up. Well, no matter. He was here already, and he wasn’t planning on lurking about, unlike some of his demonic colleagues.

He sauntered up to the door and rang the doorbell.

* * *

1 Raspberry and redcurrant. He made it three days ago when Crowley was on his little trip to Dover, six jars exactly. When he was bored and didn’t feel like sinking his teeth into one of the books, he cooked something and then tried to persuade Crowley into trying a bite with him. He always succeeded. Tempting the tempter was surprisingly easy when you had him wrapped around your angelic finger.[✿]

2 As Crowley. They only used his angel name once at the beginning, and he was pleasantly surprised about that. Someone must have made sure to tell the journalists and editors not to use it. Probably Azrael. It was flattering.[✿]

3 The paper didn’t mention the findings of certain angels’ lack of want to fight or disdain for demons, and neither did the memo from Michael which Aziraphale had got the other day. Not yet, not until the survey—which _was_ mentioned—was sent out, completed, and analysed. Crowley couldn’t know. He still knew enough, though.[✿]

4 Crowley could have looked. He could have heard his exact thoughts, but he didn’t. He was getting better at controlling this. The strength of his own thoughts, too. He’d always feel the emotions and see the brightness surrounding him and what his wings did in the metaphysical plane, but the stream of thoughts, or several rather, weren’t crowding his head anymore. Aziraphale’s, too. They only did when they wished them to.[✿]

5 There were people on the beach in summer, and he’s already pulled a fair share of pranks on them. Making sure there were sea urchins in the area, cursing the sand to cling extra-hard to their wet blankets and shoes, putting up a ‘no swimming’ sign, that kind of thing. Once he put on a disguise and walked along the beach, selling ice lollies that were either completely melted—the red ones—or made of flavourless ice—the blue ones. That was just before the bonding. He got a few laughs out of that, but there were only so many things he could do before they got old, or before he was discovered. The victims were mostly locals, after all, and everyone knew one another in rural towns. It wasn’t the same as watching strangers make fools of themselves trying to pick up coins glued to the pavement, when he knew them. When they stopped by to compliment his garden or Aziraphale’s baked goods.[✿]


	49. 5:30 a.m.

After a minute of awkward hovering, the length of which Crowley spent puffing up his cheeks, swinging back and forth on his heels, and waving once at a passing dogwalker who, in his opinion, had no business being out at barely 5:30 am, the door finally swung open—to reveal none other than Mazikeen.

Again.

She gave him and his clothes[1] a squinty once-over and then let her eyes slip to his wristwatch. Yeah. He _knew_. And anyway, pots, kettles? ‘What do you want this time?’ she asked.

Crowley, being an entity of many words, scratched the back of his neck and said, ‘Errrrrrr.’

He didn’t see this coming, to be fair. Did she—did she _live_ with them or something? Was there like an angel-demon-human three-way thing going on? It was none of his business, and he wasn’t one to judge anyone, but she was in their house this early on a Friday, and that smelt suspicious. Lucifer certainly didn’t mention anything.

She snorted. ‘I’d blame the hour, but there’s like—how many hours are between us and England?’

‘Eight, I think,’ Crowley mumbled. ‘Er. Is Amenadiel home?’

‘He went for a run,’ she said, in a tone that suggested that he was crazy for doing so. Crowley agreed. ‘Should be back soon though. What’d you want with him?’

‘Just to talk,’ he said, reminiscent of the last time. He pushed his hands in his pockets. ‘There’s—things. Can I come inside?’

For a chilling second, a glare like rusty daggers, giant spiders, overdue reports, and other unpleasant things one might find in Hell swept over his entire being. Then she pushed the door wide open and said, ‘Whatever. Don’t wake up the little one though.’

Crowley followed her to the kitchen, where she’d been preparing a jug of coffee before he showed up. The worktop was cluttered with baby things, pieces of toast, jam jars, and more knives than was probably safe. He took a gander at the leather miniskirt and strappy black top Mazikeen was wearing instead and had to commend her style.

‘Thanks. And ditto. Cool nails,’ she said with a nod, and it was about the highest praise one could get from her, besides not being discorporated or maimed on sight. She scanned him again, nose scrunched up and brow furrowed. He didn’t like it. ‘There’s something different about you. It’s putting me on edge, kinda like Amenadiel when he first—’

She circled him, a mug in hand, until she spotted the mark on his cheek. His hair failed to cover it, seeing as it was tied in a bun again, which he absolutely forgot about.

‘Fuck, that’s just awesome,’ she burst out. ‘Fucking Fallen and their drama. You do some good deeds and talk about your feelings, and bam, back to being angels again! And rub it right in our faces, too, because we don’t get to choose; we’re just demons forever and have to serve _you_ only for you to Rise and go right back to licking God’s boots.’

‘D’you think I asked for it? Huh? Or that I want to go back Up There?’ he hissed back. He mentally kicked himself for it, because she was still Hell’s best torturer. It was Unwise to mess with her, sort-of kind-of ally notwithstanding.

‘That’s honestly the worst thing,’ she said, shaking her head. Her cold glare was still sizing him up. He could see her true face[2] underneath for a flash of a second. ‘Feathered pricks. But whatever. You’re on Earth’s side, and I respect that, demon or angel. Coffee?’

‘Er,’ Crowley said again. He blinked. ‘Sure. Why not.’

Mazikeen poured herself a full mug and put the jug back on the counter instead of filling another. Right. Glad that she even allowed him to have some, he grabbed the nearest clean mug[3] and filled it himself. He took a sip that didn’t burn him. Not bad.

She hopped on a table and eyed him from behind the rim of her mug.

‘I take it you know who I am, then?’ he ventured. He miracled some sugar into his coffee, because he didn’t want her to know that he drank his coffee sweet. Demon reflexes.

‘Yep. Amenadiel told me after you left,’ she confirmed. Crowley let out a low groan. Bloody chatterboxes, the lot of them, couldn’t keep their wings out of business that wasn’t theirs and neither could they keep their mouths shut. The only one he could count on was Azrael, honestly.

‘He also said that you helped Lucifer set Hell right and deal with the rebelling scum,’ she added. ‘Thanks. Those bastards tried to hurt Charlie; they deserved it.’

He jerked his head with a barely audible _ngh_ and didn’t comment on that, or how strained her voice sounded around the first sentence[4].

‘Hey. Weird question. Inappropriate question?’ he mused a moment later, taking another sip of his coffee. ‘Erm. Are you sleeping with both of them, or are you just a demonic nanny? Just, I’ve been wondering. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind, I’ve spent six years as a nanny to the Antichrist! _Well_ , who I thought was the Antichrist, anyway.’

‘Idiot. No wonder you cocked up the Apocalypse,’ she said, likewise ingesting coffee. ‘I used to live with Chloe, but things got complicated, and in the end I moved here. Linda’s my best friend, and I need to be close to the child to protect him if something happens again.’

She fixed him with another one of her stares. _I’ll kill you if you do something to him_ , it said.

Interesting. Crowley didn’t see this coming either. The more he talked to her, the more alike he found her to be[5], and it scared him a little. And definitely amazed. She was a lesser demon who cared for her best friend’s Nephil baby to the point of stubborn, off-putting protectiveness he could see with Aziraphale and his precious books.

‘Cool. Got it,’ he said.

That was the moment someone chose to walk into the kitchen and owlishly blink at the pair of them. Crowley whipped his head around and categorised the being as Linda, wearing a nightie and bed hair. ‘I heard voices,’ she said. Then she turned to him. ‘Crowley? What’s going on?’

‘Just came to talk, didn’t realise the time zone thing until it was too late,’ he explained. ‘Coffee?’

She considered the time, the coffee, and the probable development of the situation. She decided in favour of the coffee, and he poured her a mug[6], unlike _someone_. He wasn’t being angelic. It was a common courtesy, for one, and he also wanted to stick out his tongue at Mazikeen. Which he did.

Stupidly. He was really going to end up stabbed at some point, because he apparently absorbed the 5 a.m. sluggishness by osmosis and stopped cooperating with his brain.

‘Thanks,’ she said, clutching her mug like a lifeline. ‘Amen should be back soon. You came to talk to him, right?’ She walked to the fridge and took some cream.

‘And you,’ he admitted, watching her pour it into the coffee.

‘Oh. Like to me personally, or me as a therapist? Because I’m not taking on any new clients at the moment, don’t think they’d handle the angel baby in the room,’ she chuckled. It was too early.

Crowley sighed. He could use a therapist, as about everyone would probably tell him and Aziraphale in particular, but he had no desire to deal with any of that. Therapy, it wasn’t for him. Too much talking and pouring one’s soul out to a stranger. Even if said stranger knew all about the supernatural and celestial and managed to deal with Lucifer for four years. He was the kind of person who preferred to talk about his issues drunk and in front of a certain angel, thank you very much, when he actually chose to address them rather than petulantly avoid them like his stiff bloody siblings.

‘I would,’ he said, just by the way. ‘Look, it helps that you’re a therapist, but it’s a one-off thing. I’m not—I don’t want to do all—this.’ He gestured vaguely between them with his coffee, which didn’t spill. ‘But things happened. Big Things. Colossal Things. ‘N I need some insight, I guess. And need to prepare for when _they_ come.’

‘They?’ Linda asked. She drank her creamed coffee and sighed in caffeinated bliss. She also ran a hand through her hair a few times in an attempt to fix it, but it didn’t really help.

‘Angels, demons, I dunno. Mainly my annoying siblings. Did Amen catch you up on the latest episode of Celestial Drama?’

‘You mean the thing with the memories? Of you? And how you think that you might have put the block on them yourself in a moment of pain and desperation and then spent millennia trying to avoid yourself and the trauma your siblings have inflicted on you, Lucifer included; the block that’s now gone and causing this—avalanche of events and feelings that no one’s prepared for? Yeah, he did.’

Crowley stared at her. ‘I—wfh—yeah. That.’

‘I could honestly write _so_ many studies on just you and your siblings,’ she noted, staring at the cupboards. She looked like she did. She’d probably end up locked in a mental asylum if she went through with it though. ‘Okay, I’d actually love to hear your story from you, because, I mean, you’re the Archangel Raphael! The patron of medicine and healing and— _and_ you’re a right case[7], almost as interesting as Lucifer. But it’s _way_ too early for this.’

‘Why, thanks for the compliment,’ he sneered.

‘Did you know that he’s an angel again?’ Mazikeen asked as a side note. Crowley was too busy scowling at her from behind the rim of his sunglasses and studying Linda’s reaction[8] to notice that the front door has opened and closed.

He only noticed when heavy footsteps approached the kitchen and a deep voice said, ‘Who’s an angel ag—’

Amenadiel stopped and stared at Crowley’s cheek, which was turned snake-mark to him. Or maybe he was staring at all of him, because he was probably the last person he expected to be standing in his kitchen, drinking coffee with his girlfriend and Mazikeen, but he was convinced that it was only the cheek. ‘Raph—I mean Crowley? Brother, is it true?’

Before Crowley could get so much as a _ngk_ out, Amenadiel and his sweaty t-shirt were holding him in a bear hug he couldn’t snake his way out of. The coffee stubbornly refused to spill out of the mug even now, which, good. The hug was, on the other hand, more than unexpected. He cast a sideways glance at Mazikeen, whose eyebrows confirmed that it was unexpected indeed.

If her observation was anything to go by though, he stank of angel[9], and _everyone_ would be able to tell if they focused only a bit harder on his aura and the celestial bits of him that leaked from his corporation. It certainly explained Azrael’s non-reaction beyond the usual mysterious Death-knows-everything.

‘Oof—I—please let go of me now?’ he absolutely didn’t squeak out. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant though. Aeons familiar. Warm. Grey as his wings.

‘You figured it out! I told you that you would,’ he said, grinning and very pleased with himself. Crowley was still nowhere near that pleased, despite literally everyone thinking that he should be. He released him from his grip. ‘I am _so_ proud of you. And—I’m sorry. Lord, I can’t even _begin_ to apologise—’

‘Then don’t. It’s fine; was a long time ago.’

‘Then why do I feel like it’s not?’ he asked, seeing right through him as if he were incorporeal. He was right, because not so long ago, it was Crowley who was demanding that they apologise for everything.

Crowley took a sip of coffee so he wouldn’t need to answer immediately, and actually, he downed the whole thing right away. The mug was eerily close to being right. There was an awkward silence in the kitchen, disturbed only by the hum of the fridge.

‘Right, I’m out,’ said Mazikeen eventually, refilled her mug, and took the coffee and one of the knives out of the room. If Charlie weren’t half-angel, he’d be worried. But he wasn’t. The fledgeling could apparently handle it, yep, totally, demonic knife-wielding nannies were his thing.

‘So,’ he said, still awkwardly. ‘This whole sibling drama might be a part of the reason why I’m here?’

‘You’ve read the Observer,’ Amenadiel stated. Linda wordlessly passed him some coffee too, thus emptying the jug.

‘Yep, and Rae’d visited me. Told me I could hunker down here for a bit, so that’s what I’m doing? I’m kind of avoiding, er. Certain people.’

‘They can find you here too,’ Amenadiel said, amused.

Crowley didn’t realise this. Mazikeen wasn’t wrong, calling him an idiot. He was one sometimes. ‘Shit. They can, can’t they? Well, at least Aziraphale can give me a warning. And I did want to talk. Astonishing, I know. Dunno what’s got into me either.’

Speaking of Aziraphale… if he were to give him a warning, that would mean he had to run into them first, and on his own. Not that Crowley didn’t trust him to be able to take care of himself, especially with the bit of his power entwined with his own, but he was extremely prone to getting in trouble. A trouble magnet, he was. Oh well. He better tell him to put up some wards and prepare himself. Thankfully, the bond made that easy. Just thinking hard enough would do.

 _It would do indeed, thank you, dear. I’ll get right on it. And I don’t know what you’re talking about. Trouble magnet!_ echoed through his mind. He was wrong. Just how many times had Crowley saved him from an inconvenient discorporation, utter embarrassment, or both?

‘Well, it’s definitely a good thing,’ said Linda, bringing him back to earth. ‘Wanting to talk, at least to someone, is the first step towards moving on. Healing, you could say.’ He grimaced at being reminded all the time. ‘Also, since we’re apparently not going back to bed, I could use some breakfast. Want to help me, Amen?’

‘Sure.’ He turned to Crowley. ‘Will you eat with us, or…?’

‘Nah, already had some toast,’ he said. He wasn’t a Hobbit and didn’t need a second breakfast. ‘Go ahead, I’ll—go and check on fledgeling. Or go for a walk or something.’

‘Okay.’ He squeezed his shoulder. ‘And then we’ll talk?’

Crowley sniffed. He placed the empty mug on the counter. ‘Yeah. Guess then we’ll talk.’

* * *

1 His regular skinny jeans, rolled up above the ankles, and a not-so-regular, slightly loose black shirt that was tied at the waistline. It was from the women’s department, as were most clothes he’s bought this century, but he didn’t really know that because the concept of specifically gendered clothes and areas in shops still evaded him. And confused him. He picked what he liked, miracled it to fit perfectly if it didn’t already, and bought it. He thought humans should do the same, and actually, they should scrap this bullshit about binary gender altogether when they were at it.[✿]

2 Every demon and angel had their True Face, beautifully golden or uglily mucky. In their natural environment, they wore them proud and open—not that there were many other options—unless those specific features weren’t on their face, like in the case of Aziraphale, Gabriel, or Lucifer, to name a few—but on a neutral plane, such as Earth, they usually covered them to blend in. It was an instinct, almost.[✿]

3 It had three marks on it, with the words ‘shhh’, ‘almost’, and ‘now you may speak’ from top to bottom. He had better ones at home, but this was a good one. He might miracle up a copy later. He also suspected that it would fit the situation perfectly.[✿]

4 Before he went back Down to deal with this, Lucifer had paid her a visit and apologised for leaving so abruptly, but she was still pissed. He’d gone back home without _her_? Nay, without _telling her_? After what they’ve been through? Un-fucking-cool. And then he still left her in LA to manage the club rather than let her help murder some bastard demons and took this snake idiot instead. Okay, he turned out to be powerful, but so was _she_.[✿]

5 And he didn’t even know that her demonic father was a serpent demon, namely the Duke Ophur. She had bits of snake in her too, that way. Crowley hasn’t met him too many times, but he _had_ been slithering around the Garden and trying—and succeeding, obviously—to seduce Lilith and making all sorts of trouble that had made Crowley’s job difficult. He’d probably thought it was funny.[✿]

6 It said ‘mom of an angel’, so it was clearly hers. He thought it was hilarious. He didn’t know this, but it was a gift from Ella.[✿]

7 The Fallen Archangel Raphael, former patron of medicine and healing, with PTSD. She didn’t need to know much more than she already did to professionally guesstimate that that was what was going on. Falling from Heaven must have been one hell of a traumatic event—pun intended, and she wasn’t sorry, it was 5:30 a.m.—so much so that Lucifer refused to tell her much about it. That wasn’t unusual, per se, but still. She still really, _really_ wanted to hear more, get a proper diagnosis, and try to help him if he’d let her.[✿]

8 Okay. Not so Fallen anymore then. It probably happened within the week, and the memories might somehow be linked to it, she thought. The pieces were starting to fit together, even if they were only the corners, and the middle of the puzzle was still left in a disorganised heap on the side of the table. She’d get there though. She’d solve it. She’d help _him_ solve it.[✿]

9 Angels and demons carried their own distinct feelings about them, too. Angels radiated light and heat and smelt a bit like a mixture of ozone, sundried laundry, and everyone’s favourite things (except for Aziraphale, who also smelt like old books and his cologne). Demons sucked light and heat in like black holes and smelt like sulphur, mouldy basement, and condensed unpleasantness (except for Crowley and Mazikeen, who didn’t live in the mouldy basement and used perfume too).[✿]


	50. Ineffable... Or Not?

Crowley had not gone for a walk. No, he’d discovered the sliding door leading to the small garden and spent a good half-hour working his magic on the plants, some of which were in a frankly horrifying state for belonging to an _angel_ [1]. He couldn’t quite bare his teeth and snarl threats at them, but he wasn’t too kind either, no sir. These flowers needed to get a taste of discipline.

Maybe he could teach Mazikeen something about the power of demonic encouragement, he thought. She certainly looked like she might be up for it.

She found him by an arborvitae tree not so long after that and, making a remark about a quite different kind of discipline and balancing the angelic baby on one arm, all but dragged him inside, once again onto the Sofa of Confession. There were three glasses of orange juice on the coffee table, and the throw pillows were in a different order than he remembered, but otherwise, the place looked exactly the same. He gulped and eased himself onto the far end of the sofa, legs crossed.

She disappeared upstairs, and Crowley felt the scrutinising gazes of both his brother and Linda focus on his person the very next second. He gazed back, from behind his sunglasses, and saw that they’d both changed their clothes and that Linda had tied her hair in a ponytail.

‘Don’t really know where to start,’ he admitted, and tapped at his knee.

‘I think I should,’ said Amenadiel, shifting to look at him. ‘I remember what you said after the bonding, and you were right. We’d banished you without mercy and never checked in. I did on Luci when I tried to drag him back to Hell, but we—and I can speak for all of us here—well, all but Rae—never once thought of you. We ignored your existence—no, your _absence_ for so long that we forgot you were out there somewhere, and right in front of our eyes. And the whole time, you thought we were just ignoring you, because you didn’t even know that we didn’t know—and neither did we.’

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but Amenadiel raised a finger. ‘Please, just let me say this.’

He licked his lips and ignored the whirlwind of feelings gathering up inside him. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, waving him off as if he could still maintain an illusion of cool.

Amenadiel sat slightly straighter and adjusted the pillow behind his back. He wasn’t exactly comfortable either. ‘Right. I suppose I wanted to apologise for that. For everything. In the War, I’d been angry with you, I couldn’t understand your questions and your blasphemy, but now I’ve learned a few things, or at least I _think_ I did, and I’m genuinely sorry for all the unkind words that I’d said to you right before it all went down[2]. And maybe it was supposed to have gone like this, but we all hurt you so much that the first thing you did was hide. From all of us. And that’s not right. Look at what it did to our siblings—hell, to me too; I’m far from innocent. I hurt people. I know what it’s like to Fall.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And you know what I think, Crowley? Maybe it was you, or maybe it was God, but we were the ones who _wanted_ to forget. That’s why it was rooted so deep. The pain was too unbearable.’

‘You chose to forget the pain, and that was your undoing,’ remarked Linda, to him. ‘In burying the trauma, you lost yourselves and the lesson you were supposed to learn. If there was one. We’re still not clear on the Divine Plan or possible lack thereof. Are we?’

‘No, very much ineffable,’ Crowley said, and his tongue hated it. ‘Is every step planned? Is She just laughing at us for thinking so? Who knows, certainly not us. My money’s on somewhere in between though.’

He’d said as much on the beach.

His heart was also beating a little too fast. He admonished his body for it, because he was a d—celestial, and didn’t need to possess a heartbeat at all, let alone an accelerated one, someone damn it. He turned his head back to Amenadiel and stammered out a thanks, apology accepted, ‘t was a long time ago.

Amenadiel gave him a brief smile.

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ he agreed. ‘We’ve seen that self-actualisation and self-judgement play a rather large part in our existence and not every step we take is written, not like Luci and I have always thought.’

‘Not just you,’ Crowley said, the scene from the air base vivid on his mind. It was one of many evidential ones, because _everyone_ thought that. Even the demons, paradoxically enough.

‘Oh God, I remember how Lucifer used to blame _everything_ on the Guy Upstairs,’ Linda snorted. ‘He was honestly one of the worst cases of daddy issues I’ve ever—wait, hang on.’ She turned to Crowley, a puzzled expression on her face. ‘You said she. Are you talking about the Goddess, because she’s—’

Stuck in a parallel universe, yeah. He knew that too now, thanks to the angel in question. It meant he couldn’t visit Her anymore. Well, he could, dimension travel wasn’t impossible for an Archangel, but before, he used to pop for a visit about once a century when he happened to be in Hell and knew that Mazikeen wasn’t on torture duty. Not even Lucifer was aware of that, probably, because he’s never told him. And he couldn’t do that anymore, because neither of them was in Hell. He didn’t—he didn’t know how to feel about that.

‘No, it’s errrrr.’ He picked at non-existent lint on his jeans. ‘We’re naturally sexless, all of us, but we can choose how to present. So can God. Used to be He, but now it’s not, as far as anyone’s aware.’

Which wasn’t saying much, because no one has spoken to the Almighty for a while. Not that it mattered. Pronouns were relative when it came to God; She could have a female form but still be called everyone’s Father, because it was no less true. And better than Mum II.

‘Oh. So God is… genderfluid?’

‘If you have to use a human label, I guess you could say that? So am I; so are Uriel and Azrael, for example. Lucifer and Amen here have always been attached to being firmly male, on the other hand.’

Crowley didn’t get why. It was much more fun when you could change stuff around, wear all sorts of shapes and clothes and organs. Binary gender was a ridiculous concept if you asked him. But some angels, present company included, were boring and didn’t care to explore much beyond it[3].

And you should ask him, because then he wouldn’t have to reply to all the stuff Amenadiel had said and tell him how exactly this Rising of his had happened.

He let out a heavy sigh and uncrossed his legs, then crossed them the other way around. ‘What you said about forgetting… say you’re right, and it was me. You think that it could’ve worked because you felt so guilty that you yourselves wanted to forget. What about the rest though? Most weren’t even there.’

Amenadiel opened his mouth to say something but shut it just as fast. This put a dent in his theory. Hah. ‘Well, I guess that _is_ ineffable,’ he said. It was beginning to be the go-to phrase whenever an angel didn’t want to admit that they didn’t have an explanation for something.

‘Or you’re wrong, and God did it[4],’ Crowley theorised. ‘Funny thing is, you know how you all suddenly remembered last week?’

‘Do you know something about that, brother?’

‘Do I know—’ He huffed. ‘Okay, so, no one else knows this, and I don’t want you spreading it all through Heaven, capiche?’

Amenadiel nodded. ‘I can try.’

Crowley glanced at Linda, who was sipping at the orange juice and observing them like any other celestial insider therapist would. She was probably still processing the fact that God wasn’t an old white man with a long white beard[5].

‘Fffhh. Good enough, I guess.’ He reached for a glass of juice as well, because drinking something was always a good way to stall and get a few seconds to calm a chaotic mind, and drank half of it. He pulled a face. It wasn’t freshly squeezed, just the stuff you could get in cartons in a supermarket.

‘So, long story short, I came home from Hell, got spectacularly plastered, and said some stuff to God. At God, really. Because I’ve been Thinking about all this too, right, and I _may_ have said a few really strong things and meant them. One of those was that I was done with hiding. Another was that I made peace with Falling and being a demon and being where I was, and look at where that got me, but that’s a whole other thing.’ His lip twitched upwards in a sneer. A treacherous, contrary warmth bloomed at the base of his wings. ‘So, I got my staff back, and I was done with hiding ‘cos everyone knew anyway, and two minutes later, Aziraphale recalled a memory of us meeting in Heaven.’

‘You’d told me about that,’ Amenadiel recalled, with something like fondness and sadness mixing on his face. He paused and flicked a pointing finger his way. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘So the moment you decided to let go of the past and stop hiding, the block disappeared?’ Linda asked.

‘I think so, yeah. But I told _God_ that, so I still don’t know if _I_ did that or if She was just listening and decided to do it, because She _was_ listening; She’d appeared in Adam’s dream and told him to come and visit the next morning,’ he said, not at all bitterly.

She blinked and raised an eyebrow. ‘Adam’s?’

‘Antichrist. Lucifer’s son,’ he clarified. No, not _that_ Adam.

‘She appeared in his _dream_?’ asked Amenadiel, who knew about his existence and Lucifer’s lack of interest in him. Crowley’s clarification seemed to confuse Linda even further though, because at the same time, she asked, ‘Lucifer has a _son_?’

* * *

1 Amenadiel may be an angel, but he didn’t share Crowley’s enthusiasm for growing and scolding vegetation. In fact, he didn’t know the first thing about plants. The garden was Linda’s, and actually, it was her own frustration outlet too; in moments of idleness and utmost exasperation with her patients or, more recently, her partner, best friend, and child, she took to digging in the ground and pouring both that exasperation and gentle love into the flowers. Other days, she went kickboxing.[✿]

2 That was an understatement. When faced with the Fury of God’s fury, there were more than just _unkind words_. Usually, there were weapons involved, too, and the Stare of Righteous Anger. Michael hadn’t been the only one Crowley had to fight. He knew that Amenadiel knew this but let him have it because hello, were you listening, Fury of God?[✿]

3 That wasn’t true. Lucifer had gone through a brief period of presenting as a woman during one of his earliest Earth holidays—Greece, perhaps? The sex was excellent, but the rest of the experience less so, and he stuck to being male ever since for the sake of—well, for the sake of convenience, even though he didn’t like thinking about it.[✿]

4 Or they were all wrong, and it was all of that, She thought with a smirk. Crowley didn’t want to be noticed, the Archangels thought they didn’t want to remember, and everyone needed to learn a few things. There, three birds with one stone. Or three winged beings with one miracle, really. That was all She was going to say about it.[✿]

5 That wasn’t to say that God couldn’t be that. They could be a German teenage boy, an Indian grandma, a middle-aged American woman, a genderless blob of a being from some planet on the other side of the universe, a dog, a beam of light, _anything_. They were _God_.[✿]


	51. Fall and Rise

‘We think so. Bloody surprise, that was,’ Crowley said to Amenadiel quickly before he turned to Linda. He licked his lips. ‘Didn’t Amen tell you about the Apocalypse? The Antichrist? I think he did, yeah, last time I was here.’

‘He _did_ ,’ she recalled, giving him a sideways nod. ‘But I guess I never realised that the Antichrist in question was like— _actually Lucifer’s son_. Our Lucifer’s[1].’

‘Nhh,’ Crowley said, drinking more of the inadequate orange juice, which decided to increase its quality and metamorphosise into something fresher and overall better right before it reached his mouth. He’s never fucking told her, has he? Typical, wasn’t it just. He didn’t care to mention anything important unless someone outright asked, or unless it miraculously became relevant to his personal troubles.

‘But I guess it makes sense that he’d—’ She chuckled. ‘You know, with how often he sleeps with a lot of different people. Sometimes at once.’ Crowley didn’t need to see that image. _Again_. ‘And I guess that means Charlie isn’t the only of his kind?’

‘It’s—’ Amenadiel rubbed at the back of his neck. ‘Complicated. The Antichrist is a different kind of being in and of themself, destined to bring about the end of the world. Adam doesn’t draw on the Almighty’s power; his powers are more earthly and infernal if anything. He’s closely connected to the Horsepersons. He’s the Adversary. Our Charlie is a Nephil, a true angelic Nephil.’

Crowley let his head loll towards her. He said, ‘No, he’s not.’

She let out a _huh_. Amenadiel frowned. ‘Well, if you want to oversimplify things.’

‘Nothing oversimplified about it. He was the Antichrist, now he’s not,’ he said plainly. ‘Just your regular Nephil like his coz here. He remade himself, rather like his dad, or you, or—me. Got growing wings and all.’

‘Interesting,’ Linda said. She was giving Amenadiel an unimpressed look. Looked like they were going to have Words later. She turned to Crowley. ‘Ok, so, Lucifer is a _dad_ , and even Nephilim can—shape themselves. Good to know.’ She cleared her throat. ‘You were saying something about making peace with Falling?’

‘May have,’ he replied, fingers drumming against the cool glass.

‘And then you were an angel again,’ Amenadiel asked, as a question-mark-less question.

‘Woke up like this, yeah,’ Crowley confirmed, somewhat grumpily. He took off his sunglasses and showed Amenadiel his eyes.

Amenadiel blinked at him. ‘Your eyes.’

‘My eyes,’ he parroted. He shoved the sunglasses back onto his nose. ‘You said this was about—finding the light again. Letting go of the burden that was keeping us down. Realising that we weren’t monsters deserving of punishment anymore—or maybe that one was Luci. But I didn’t _want it_. I didn’t ask for it; quite the _opposite_ , in fact.’

As he’d said, it was a bit of a paradox. God had a sense of humour, and it wasn’t all that funny.

‘But you were never really Fallen—you said so yourself, the last time,’ said Linda. ‘And you embraced that, instead of… trying to convince yourself that you were a demon, someone who was unforgivable? But also embraced that you’d Fallen, that it was something that had happened in the past and was over and done with, and that it led you where you needed to be.’

‘It sounds a lot like you made peace with things and finally stopped punishing yourself,’ Amenadiel observed. ‘It was more or less the same with Luci. I’m also guessing that Aziraphale had something to do with that?’

‘Might have,’ Crowley said, drinking his upgraded juice. He decided not to question how Linda was figuring that out. Amenadiel’d probably told her that too. ‘I—well, like you said. It was over and done with. No point in dwelling on it anymore; I have a life on Earth now. I have Aziraphale, and he has me, and it really, really shouldn’t work, but it does. That ridiculous angel taught me to love again. Or accept that I never stopped.’

He emptied the glass and set it aside. He slumped against the backrest and stared at the ceiling and the fan slowly spinning underneath.

‘And—and—look. I blamed God for so long—everyone fucking does, Down There. But it wasn’t Her, it was _Michael_ [2]. And if I hadn’t felt like I deserved it, I wouldn’t’ve Fallen in the first place. I could have fought back. The staff’s not a weapon, but it can help me create illusions and make things happen, and oh can they be _powerful_. I could’ve—I could’ve turned her sword to paper, and that’s the easiest one. But I did nothing. I let it happen. And then I just crawled away and hid, because that was easy. And kept hiding, even when I gained a rep in Hell and a nice warm spot on Earth for taking credit for stuff humans did themselves. Creative enough without my influence, angelic _or_ demonic, they were. No one needed me, and it was comfortable that way.

‘Until—well, Aziraphale needed me, didn’t he? I don’t even know how many times I saved his arse from trouble. It’s almost like _symbiosis_. We did blessings and temptations for each other and saw plays and—you can imagine. And he made being a demon a lot less miserable. _Fun_ , really. Well, the humans did too, but, yeah. I’d be bored without Aziraphale. And I think I’ve always loved him. I’d never have exchanged that life for anything. I forgave Her, in the end. And myself. Because it wasn’t a punishment. In the end. And then this happened.

‘And I was angry. _Royally pissed_. At myself. Because this isn’t what I wanted—no, it isn’t what I _thought_ I wanted, what I allowed myself to ever think of wanting. But—I dunno anymore. And it’s all just so. Bloody. Confusing.’

There was silence.

Crowley gritted his teeth and let out a deep exhale. He hadn’t expected all that to come out. His cheeks were _definitely_ too warm, and the urge to transform and coil up under one of these pillows nagged at him almost too strongly. He resisted, because it might freak Linda out, and carefully lifted his head instead.

Linda drank half a glass of juice and definitely wished to have some alcohol in it, the hour be damned, and Amenadiel processed it as well as someone infinitely smart but sometimes also infinitely thick could.

He did the last thing Crowley expected from him though: he smirked. ‘When I Fell, I couldn’t accept it. I hid it for so long and tried to do everything I could to feel God’s grace again, to have my powers back. Nothing worked—until I stopped caring about it and accepted that I wasn’t going back. Then Charlotte died, and I just thought about taking her soul to Heaven. And I did.’

‘Okay.’ Crowley licked his lips again. ‘Hnnff. Is it always so reverse psychology?’

‘No idea, we’d need more cases than just three,’ said Linda. ‘But from what I understand, there seems to be one—well, _two_ repeating variables, love and forgiveness in one form or another. And none of you wanted it to happen when it happened, both the Falling _and_ the Rising.’

‘It’s subconscious, yeah,’ said Amenadiel. ‘But there still is some amount of control. I was fully aware of my actions and my guilt when I Fell. I got my wings and my grace back, but I still believe that among humans is where I belong, and that I shouldn’t use my powers against them—so I can’t. But you could, even as a demon, because deep down, you knew that they needed you. You’ve always been on their side.’

‘Yeah, I—’ He cut himself off, but no one was keeping score anymore. ‘Yeah, I suppose I have. I’ve never liked—doing things that caused them too much pain. I’m more of a chaos agent, me. _Tube delays_ , oh yeah. That awful 2015 strike, that was me[3]. And the one in 2002.’ He scratched his snake mark. ‘Where was I going with this?’

Both of them seemed to be equally lost there.

‘I think Amen was suggesting that since you’re aware of the circumstances of your Fall, you’re aware of those of your Rise, too,’ said Linda, skipping the part about the humans. ‘But you’re afraid of it. It’s understandable—God knows Lucifer was _worse_.’ She rolled her eyes just slightly. ‘But it’s not God’s test or whatever you think it is. _You_ did that. _You_ forgave yourself. Now you just have to let that in and relearn what being an angel is like. Amen only lost his grace for a while, but for you it’s been—ages, I’m guessing?’

Crowley hummed noncommittally. ‘Give or take two million years.’

She whistled in surprise. ‘Okay. Think about that,’ she pointed out, pointing with her glass. ‘And think about it in context of your siblings and the memories, too. How do you think they feel?’

‘Like they need a therapist,’ Crowley joked, despite his feelings towards the subject.

‘Please no,’ she laughed uncomfortably. ‘I don’t need to deal with the whole family’s worth of issues. I really don’t. It’s hard enough thinking in the celestial context as it is.’

‘Ugh,’ Crowley grumbled. ‘I know they feel enough remorse to want to change, or at least Michael does, and that’s quite something. Guess this works for misguided angels too.’

‘With the memories come the feelings,’ Linda said. ‘It’s like suddenly remembering an unpleasant childhood memory. But multiplied, I suppose. I can’t even imagine.’

‘There are the good ones too,’ Amenadiel said. ‘Those are the hardest, especially for the likes of Gabe. Remembering the War hurts, but it’s memories we’ve always had; we’ve learned to live with those. Remembering all the other stuff though, the stuff that reminds us that we were—that we were _happy_ once, that you’re our brother, that doesn’t fit his view of the world. Michael, though—she wants to focus on the happy ones so she wouldn’t have to think of the War all the time, and she wants to make up for what she’d done so she would feel good about herself again. It’s working though; I like the progress she’s making[4].’

‘And—you?’ Crowley asked, cocking an eyebrow.

‘I’m trying my best to atone for my sins by being here. On Earth,’ he said. ‘And I think that we need the reminder of the good _and_ the bad. I’m mostly glad that you’re here though—how long do you plan on sticking around?’

‘Dunno, not too long,’ he answered, a leg twitching at the sudden change of topic. He wasn’t kidding; he really wasn’t a fan of the States. Some places here were too evil even for demon Crowley. Angel Crowley would probably get an allergic rash or something. And he didn’t want to leave Aziraphale by himself for too long either. ‘Know any good hotels, by the way?’

‘Nonsense; you can stay here,’ Linda offered. She looked at Amenadiel. ‘Right? This is a pull-out sofa, and we have some blankets. Maze won’t murder you, don’t worry.’

‘I—nkhff—don’t want to intrude—’

It would be weird. The whole situation was weird. Also, she might not murder him, but she might still Do Things, so he wasn’t exactly reassured by that. If anything, the possibility he would normally overlook was pointed out to him.

‘How were you _ever_ a demon, honestly?’ Amenadiel laughed, and Crowley scowled, because too bloody early. ‘Sure, no problem, Crowley, this house can handle one more celestial.’

‘Er. Thanks,’ he muttered. He ran his hands across the sofa’s grey upholstery.

It would be weird, but he guessed he could survive it. He didn’t _need_ to sleep, at any rate. He just enjoyed switching off his mind for a few hours a week. He could always be out somewhere.

And—they were right, he remarked in an odd moment of introspective clarity. He should just get over himself. Keep calm and carry on, eh? No need to make a dramatic moment or twenty out of this. Lucifer was an angel, and he still was the (Reluctant) Lord of Hell. Adam was right, too. He was still himself, just warmer and lighter and feeling like he could power fifty nuclear plants with his energy.

He used to pour that energy into stars and creation in Heaven and his amazingly clever schemes of mass annoyance and low-grade evil in Hell, _and_ it was dulled then. He had nowhere to put it now, so he was just—idle and constantly on edge.

‘Now, what was that about being a chaos agent?’ Linda asked, and his head perked up. ‘Also, I definitely need to know more about Gabriel being married to Beelzebub, because Amen doesn’t know almost anything, and it’s probably the most exciting gossip I’ve heard in weeks.’

Yep, this was going to be a long one.

He could talk about that stuff though. Oh yes, he could. He had a lot of Feelings about it. And it still wasn’t that awful, talking to Amenadiel and her. Even with the psychoanalysing, more of which was probably yet to come. They were millions of years old and had millions of years’ worth of memories between them.

‘That bloody hypocrite,’ Crowley started, shaking his head. ‘So back in Heaven, I bonded them, right…’

* * *

1 Linda had read the Bible. Then read it again when she found out the truth about Lucifer, Amenadiel, Maze, and the whole shebang. Then read some other works on the subject and even heard the story of the Apocalypse That Didn’t Happen from Amen; she knew who the Antichrist was supposed to be, in theory. Amen never mentioned a name or called him anything but ‘the Antichrist’ though, and Lucifer has _certainly_ never mentioned a child—not even when _she had a half-angel baby herself_ —so it didn’t really… connect, you see.[✿]

2 God had given the order to cast the rebelling angels out and down to Hell. She never said exactly who that was, though. She never specified that _this_ angel and _that_ angel and _Raphael himself_ should Fall. That was all Her children, doing it themselves and _to_ themselves.[✿]

3 Fun fact: although the author doesn’t live in London, she’d been caught in that one, because of course she had to be there during those two August days. It was the opposite of fun. It was an awful lot of waiting and walking and reading a Torchwood novel on various buses stuck in traffic jams and then getting to bed at 3 am because the bloody N38 wouldn’t show up for hours. It’s still a vivid memory, that.[✿]

4 Self-judgement went both ways though. He’d Fallen because of his compunction and sense of unworthiness. Some guilt prompted action, but when one felt too much of it, it prompted subconscious condemning of oneself and one’s actions, which equalled Falling. He was a little worried about Michael and Gabriel and Uriel there, and though they might need to learn this lesson, he prayed they wouldn’t have to learn it the hard way.[✿]


	52. An Angel Walks into a Bar

It all sounded suspiciously like the setup for a shitty joke. An angel who used to be a demon until quite recently walks into a cocktail bar in the middle of Los Angeles and meets a demon and three women…

But it wasn’t. It was a thing that, against all odds, happened, because of course Crowley had that kind of luck.

He should probably start at the beginning, eh?

Imagine you’ve spent hours sitting on your angelic brother’s sofa—with a few interludes of pacing and lying on it upside down—and drinking one glass of various non-alcoholic beverages after another[1], most recently coconut water. Imagine that in between random chatter and gossip concerning your other siblings, you’ve had one of the longest serious conversations in your entire life, which was saying something considering it’s been a bloody long one, and you couldn’t even be drunk for it. Sometime halfway through, you ended up holding said brother’s child and trying to entertain him with your wings. Soon after, there was lunch, which you didn’t eat because of all the coconut water you drank earlier, and then the Serious Talk continued.

It helped. Probably. Someone who’s been through the same thing knew rather more about it than Aziraphale or Azrael, after all, and someone who was still in touch with the other Archangels and has been at the meeting could tell him what precisely had gone down _there_.

Some angels (and demons?) hadn’t wanted to fight, for one, and apparently, dating a demon wasn’t punishable by death anymore, yay Heaven!

Anyway. You talked, but soon you had enough, and you were in an unfamiliar city—a really _big_ and _famous_ unfamiliar city—so you went and decided to roam the streets a bit. See the Walk of Fame, vandalise Donald Trump’s star a bit, that kind of thing. You went on a tour of one of the film studios while your other half prattled on about 50s film stars and making progress and having _fun_ in your head.

Which you were, to an extent. Having fun. Or at least not having a terrible time. But there were too many humans around, and sensing all these emotions coming from them, positive _and_ negative, and feeling who had cancer and who’s had a bad lunch when you got too close wasn’t exactly your idea of a good pastime. You’d been able to turn that off before, mind, but your entire being was still off-balance because of the Rising thing. So, what would you do?

Look up the best pubs—no, they only called them _bars_ here unless it was an Irish place or something—in the vicinity and walk into the first one because all you needed was to get plastered.

Or Crowley did, in any case. He wasn’t in the mood for getting drunk _quickly_ though, because it was only nine and the night was still young, so he chose a random cocktail bar. There he sauntered up to the counter, told the bartender to start a tab, and ordered a mojito with the mind of trying everything on the menu in an unidentifiable order he was going to figure out later.

He turned around to see if there were any tables available, and then he spotted two very, _very_ familiar figures standing next to two other women three tables away. Fuck.

Linda had said that she was going out later—something about two weeks and catching up—but she hadn’t specified the time or place. He hadn’t thought it was anything he should concern himself with. He’d been wrong.

He turned around to disappear in the other direction, but Mazikeen has already spotted him. It was a celestial thing, knowing when another supernatural being was in the room and was _noticing_ you. On hindsight, he should’ve noticed her first and scrammed. But he hasn’t, and now he had to acknowledge them.

With a resigned sigh, he took himself and his mojito over to their table.

‘Crowley?’ Linda asked, an eyebrow raised and hand around the stem of a glass of piña colada. ‘Wow, what a coincidence.’

‘I know,’ he said, taking a slurp of his drink. He regarded her and Maze’s companions and immediately placed the one next to the demon as Chloe Decker, Lucifer’s girlfriend. He could sense the blessing on her[2]. ‘Hey, you must be Chloe. And you,’ he glanced at the woman next to her, ‘are Ella, right?’

She had a faint whiff of Death to her, for a change. Not a Mark—just this eerie impression of something invisible creeping up your back, and a bit of formaldehyde, actually. Lucifer had mentioned that Azrael’s human friend was a forensic scientist, which, talk of coincidences.

‘Yeah, that’s me, hi,’ said Chloe warily, ‘and who are you?’

‘Anthony J. Crowley,’ he said with a cocky grin. He raised his drink and then, when he realised that they’d have no idea from that alone, he added, ‘Lucifer’s brother.’

‘Another one? Oh my god, hi!’ said Ella, and then he was being hugged, _again_. She was _really_ excited about it, too. It ended as soon as it began, though, and she was now giving him a rather impressive scowl, complete with a sharp look. ‘If you see Lucifer, tell him he’s an asshole for leaving Chloe like that, and he should go straight to Hell.’

Crowley shot a finger gun at her, still grinning. ‘Good one.’

Maze snorted. Crowley didn’t know that Ella didn’t know, so he missed the expression of utter confusion that crossed her face for a second. He glanced at Chloe instead. She rolled her eyes, but there was something sad about it. She loved him, and missed him, and hated that she hasn’t heard from him in months. Probably. But the love was definitely there.

He felt all woozy because of the energy around the table, actually, and he hasn’t even drunk a third of his drink. Ugh, angelic senses. Why did it have to feel so _nice_?

‘But really, what are you doing here? This is our Tribe Night, and now you’re ruining it,’ Maze said. She took a sip of beer and held his gaze the entire time.

‘Really was a coincidence. I mainly came here to get slowly but surely sloshed; can go away.’ He already turned to leave and was halfway through getting a _bye, ladies_ out when Chloe’s voice stopped him.

‘No, wait,’ she blurted. He spun on his heel. ‘You said you were Lucifer’s brother? That means you’re…’ She briefly turned her eyes upwards.

It was just her luck that he happened to run into her only when that was actually _true_ , wasn’t it? He wasn’t from Heaven, but he was an angel nonetheless. ‘Ngah. Yeah. It’s more complicated than that, but yeah.’

Linda whispered something he couldn’t hear in her ear[3].

‘Anthony, you said?’ Ella asked, studiously ignoring that exchange. She slurped at her own colourful cocktail. It looked like a tequila sunrise. ‘Not some weird religious name like Lucifer or Amenadiel? How come we’ve never heard of you before, dude?’

‘It’s—well, I chose it myself, really,’ he said, and mirrored her slurping. ‘Not my real name. And I prefer Crowley anyway.’

‘Oh! Right, right. Crowley it is.’ She grinned again, positively radiating—well, positivity. He could see why Azrael liker her, too. It was almost infectious, for an angel. Which he was now. And he could pick up on it.

She noticed the rest of him for the first time and scanned his clothes. ‘Hey, what are your pronouns? I don’t wanna assume anything, or, you know.’

‘He/him,’ he said, pleasantly surprised because most people _did_ just assume. ‘At least at the moment. It—ah—tends to vary from time to time. But the name thing, it’s—couldn’t really use my name. I was kicked out with Lucifer, tried to avoid trouble… yeah. ‘S complicated. And we haven’t really talked until recently, I guess. I live in London. Or _lived_ in London. Moved south last year.’

That was still taking some getting used to. Aziraphale and he have been stationed there since the _fifteenth century_.

‘You… you know where he is? How he’s doing?’ asked Chloe, and there was that sad air around her again. He’d said that he’d gone to Hell just after he’d admitted his love to her, which, yikes. Her eyes were a little wide, too[4], with an edge of meaningfulness.

‘Wait, did he go to England?’ Ella asked. At this point, the brain cells clicked together and delivered the thought that she probably didn’t know anything about the supernatural goings-on around her. Guessing everyone else wanted it to stay that way, he reminded himself to watch his mouth.

‘Bit more south than that,’ he told her vaguely. ‘There’s—family problems, and other stuff. I had to help him out; that’s why I’m here in the first place. I’m actually staying at Amen and Linda’s for a while.’

‘He’s avoiding his own family problems,’ said Maze, rolling her eyes. She hadn’t been too excited about that, him staying, but she hadn’t threatened to stab him for it. ‘Sometimes I really don’t get that family. They’re fucking crazy, all of them.’

Giving her a noncommittal but agreeing nod, he turned to Chloe. His fingers idly played with his straw. ‘He could be better, but given the _circumstances_ , it’s as good as it gets. Seems to have the employees under control now, there’s—new rules and policies, y’know, _stuff_. They’re working through it.’

She hummed in thought, like someone who had a lot of questions and couldn’t ask them. He knew the feeling. She took a sip of her drink and said, ‘That’s—great. God, I still wish he were here though.’

Maze threw an arm around her shoulders. ‘He will be, Decker. And if he doesn’t come back by the end of the year, I’ll tell this idiot to take me to him and personally kick his ass back to LA[5].’

This idiot would rather not. And anyway, he was going home in a few days; anyone could drop her off at the LA Headquarters. There was one of those buildings in pretty much every larger city, so even lesser demons could get to Hell without the help of someone with wings[6].

‘Thanks, Maze. I don’t doubt that you would, and I appreciate it.’ Chloe smiled at her. ‘How about we get some more alcohol in now, hey, ladies and gentleman?’

‘Sure thang,’ Ella cheered, and drank almost everything that was left in her glass all at once. The others happily followed her. ‘I’m telling you, he’s a pretty great guy, but he’s bailed on you way too many times. You sure he’s worth moping about like this?’

‘I—he had to go and do something important. He’ll be back, I know it.’ She took a cherry from her drink and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes twinkled. ‘I have faith.’

Crowley shared a look with Linda. Yep, the irony was there.

‘Hey, Crowley, speaking of family, if I may ask—’ he turned around at hearing Ella’s voice. ‘How many of you _are_ there? It’s just, Luce never wants to say anything.’

‘Seven,’ he said, and didn’t elaborate. It was probably the most straightforward answer anyone’s given her anyway.

She laughed. ‘Yeah, I can see how you’re related now. Well, that and the accent.’ She finished up her drink. ‘Well, there’s also Amenadiel, so that’s not much I guess. Anyway! What do you do for a living? Are you married? And is that a golden face tat? Oh, and you’ve _gotta_ have some embarrassing childhood stories.’

Crowley looked to Maze and Linda for help, but they just sipped at their drinks and refused to rescue him from the force of nature Ella was turning out to be.

He emptied half of his glass and used the straw to scoop some mint into his mouth to chew it. He leant against the table, in for a pound and all, and tried to answer some of those questions as best as he could without giving away the whole celestial secret. He liked curious people and questions he actually had answers for.

He told her that he mostly worked freelance but had been a nanny to the American ambassador’s son until last summer, that he had a husband, that yes, all of them did have religious names like that, him included—which he _didn’t_ mention—and that yes, there was seven of them like the Archangels.

Three out of four knew that they _were_ the Archangels. That made it even funnier.

Maybe it was the appletini he was busy pouring down his corporation, but that was when it hit him: he was thinking of himself as one of them and even thought it was _funny_. He didn’t even think—well, not until now, because now he had to notice it and think of it—of the bad stuff for a while. Two of them knew, but with Chloe and Ella, he was starting off as Lucifer’s brother, angel or human depending on who you asked, and it was—

God damn it.

It was _nice_ being seen through that lens. Angst-free.

He even gave them some of those stories, human-proofed. Not about Michael or Gabriel or Uriel, but—some. The safe ones. In return, he got a few case-related stories from all of them and got to know the Lucifer and Amenadiel _they_ knew.

He also was quite tipsy at this point, both from alcohol and the drunken, bubbly cheer and overall good vibes the humans around him were giving off[7], so don’t take his word for it, but he was having a pretty blessed good time. So much so that he offered to pay for the next two rounds, which was met with clapping and cheers and _holy shit is everyone in the family like, filthy rich_ from Ella when he flashed his black credit card.

‘Yep,’ he said, grinning and not lying because miracling up money definitely counted as being filthy rich. Even the expression fitted. ‘You should see my car. And my wine collection. And—and—y’know what, I’ll just pay for the whole tab, ‘s easier, innit? What’d you want next?’

After a minute of bickering and trying to think of what that was, they gave him their orders. Unexpectedly, Chloe volunteered to go with him. She shot the other ladies a significant look before she followed him, and yep, she definitely had some questions that were unsuitable for Ella’s ears.

‘Out with it,’ Crowley said as he sidled up to the bar and waited for his turn to order. It was Friday, and so the bar happened to be rather full.

‘It’s just,’ she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘You’ve seen Lucifer recently, right? You’ve been to…’ She leant close enough to whisper. ‘Hell.’

‘I have, yeah, wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.’

‘Because I haven’t seen him in months, and I know that he’s powerful and he _will_ come back to me at some point, but I’m just, I’m really worried about him, and I don’t know if it’s going to be five weeks or five _years_. And I guess I wanted to ask a favour. It’s probably really stupid, but—can we talk?’

* * *

1 Alcohol was Not Allowed for various reasons, no matter how much Linda wanted to have some too, you know, at least a mimosa or something. Crowley might not be a long-term patient of hers, but she was a professional. He could go out and get drunk later for all she cared, but he needed to have this talk sober.[✿]

2 Lucifer has also shown him a few pictures on his phone. But he could still feel it. Divinely blessed people had this whiff about them, an aura of love and Her grace and a certain ozone-ness that only angels could notice, using their eleventh sense. Demons could sense cursed people and cursed things, which explained why Lucifer hadn’t noticed when he first met her and why Crowley did now. It also explained why he was so drawn to her.[✿]

3 ‘Don’t worry, he’s safe,’ she said. ‘He’s the one I told you about, the one whose wedding Amen officiated.’[✿]

4 Kicked out with Lucifer? Did that mean—did that mean he was _Fallen_? Or had been Fallen? Lucifer has never mentioned anyone else going with him. Huh. Interesting. The more she knew… She kinda understood why he said it was complicated now. She wasn’t going to ask, it was personal, and Ella was there, but—damn, she really wanted to ask.[✿]

5 And kick his ass, period. She’d gotten a few good licks in when he’d stopped by the first time, but that fight wasn’t finished. She still wasn’t over him abandoning her on Earth like that. Even if it was her home now. Even if she didn’t despise humans and want him to go back to Hell permanently anymore. Even if she would bring him back just so Chloe—her _friend_ —wouldn’t be so miserable anymore. She’d lost Eve. She knew what that was like, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud in front of anyone but Chloe.[✿]

6 The thing with Hell was, it wasn’t so much down as in another dimension altogether. Hellions, however, couldn’t do miracles and shape reality the way angels and Fallen could, so they couldn’t just teleport themselves in and out of there, even if they did originate there. They needed someone to do it for them, ideally a Fallen or a spell-charged Planet Permit _from_ a Fallen. Those joint headquarters buildings on Earth—and the other inhabited planets—were crammed with dimension magic though, and while the lifts may seem like they simply went up and down, they actually switched between different planes of existence, rather like a TARDIS, for example. Ever heard of a portal inside a lift?[✿]

7 If he’d gone to this bar a month ago, he’d have been able to sense their sins, their discomfort and disdain and disgust. He’d only have felt the good ones when they were _really_ strong; he bet that he’d have picked up on Ella’s inner bubbliness even before. But his world used to be filled with all the things a tempter needed to carry out his temptations, not—this. He wasn’t used to this anymore. It got him drunk more effectively than the cocktails.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were two versions of this chapter in my head, this one and one where Crowley mentioned Azrael to Ella, which led down a rather nastier spiral because 1) she doesn't even know that Rae-Rae is real, 2) none of the others knows about her 'ghost friend', 3) obviously, she doesn't know about Lucifer, and now she'd find out. It was simply because Crowley didn't know that Ella didn't know, but still. He hates telling people about himself and hates when others do that behind his back, so yeah, he'd never. He's not them. It's Azrael's and Lucifer's business if they want to (or need to) tell her at some point. Screw more plot, let's keep this one lighthearted! Because there still WILL be more plot anyway :)


	53. Connections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LUCIFER SPOILERS AHEAD]
> 
> So I watched the new episodes of Lucifer (which is why this chapter is a day late lol) and omg, Lucifer really just left Amenadiel in Hell without asking him and then God went and said it was fine and Hell didn't need a king anymore. *looks at previous chapters of fic* well, my way was more dramatic than that. But never mind, it was a great (half)season!!! 
> 
> Obviously, the Michael problem is irrelevant in this fic, which makes most of the season's plot and issues irrelevant too, but the rest? I did most of the guesswork right??? Even down to the "I have faith" line (like, holy shit, Chloe actually said that about them-) and changes in Heaven. So that's nice. It's not just a post-season 4 fic, it's a season-5-if-Michael-wasn't-there fic. Compliant in all the other, smaller ways.
> 
>  **Soooo there might be some spoilery references from now on, given that S5 took place June-ish and it's July here now.** Footnote 5, in fact, contains a spoiler. Sorry. You don't have to click on it if you don't want to. The rest of the chapter is safe!

‘I don’t do favours,’ Crowley said immediately. ‘Not like him.’

‘No, it’s. I don’t wanna damn my soul or anything. I just wanna ask my stupid devil boyfriend’s brother if he could somehow maybe get me in touch with him?’ She bit her lip. ‘If that’s possible. I mean, it’s Hell, I don’t _know_.’

‘You miss him,’ he noted. He imagined himself in her situation, going months without seeing or being able to talk to Aziraphale. It would suck bollocks. Even those two weeks bloody did, and they _could_ talk.

Speaking of: _is everything alright, dear?_ asked a voice in his head, because he was thinking about him.

_Absolutely cracking, angel. Just getting drunk on cocktails with Mazikeen and a bunch of Luci’s human friends. Oddly, I—I’m not complaining. Also, I’m kinda in the middle of something?_

_Ah, of course,_ Aziraphale said in a tone that should be disappointed but wasn’t simply because it was Aziraphale. _Say hi to them for me, will you?_

‘Crowley? You with me?’ Chloe called, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked and looked at her, returning to the reality of being in a bar full of inebriated humans and bass-heavy music his angel would utterly despise.

‘Er, yeah, am now,’ he said. He may have swayed on his legs a little, but he would deny all allegations of it, thank you very much.

‘It’s our turn.’ She cocked her head in the bartender’s direction. He was staring at him impatiently, like any other service worker who’s absolutely done with everything and can’t wait for the end of their shift. Crowley quickly recounted the remaining orders to him and then turned to Chloe again.

‘You were saying?’ he asked.

‘It’s a bit loud and crowded here,’ she said. She was right. ‘Can we go outside?’

He could frankly use a bit of fresh air and distance from humans too, he concluded, and stuck his hands in his small pockets as he made his way out of the bar[1]. It was dark now but still warm. There was a hot dog stand somewhere nearby. A _cheap_ hot dog stand. He could smell it.

He stood with his back to the wall and turned to her, a crooked eyebrow beckoning her to speak.

‘Okay, can I just say, you’re a bit different than the other angels. Kind of…’

‘Cooler?’ he offered. Since his sunglasses were hanging on his shirt, he could wink at her and she could see it.

She chuckled. ‘Yeah, guess you could say that.’ She looked at his cheek. It was the left one, so she couldn’t see the snake, but she knew it was there anyway. ‘Forgive me if it’s insensitive or something, but you’re—you’re Raphael, aren’t you? Because of the…’ She pointed at her right cheek. ‘Snake.’

‘Someone’s done her reading,’ he huffed. He had half a mind to show her the snake eyes but didn’t. He was probably adding enough salt to the wound by just being there and talking to her about Hell in the first place. ‘Yeah, I am. But really, don’t mention it. I said it was complicated.’

She’d probably know anyway if she’s read deep enough to find out about him. Most books on the subject tended to be unclear on the number and names of Archangels, and even if they mentioned the correct number, his name was only a footnote in a story about the Fall as far as he was aware. A cautionary tale or something, about how even the mighty can fall. It had all happened before the creation of the Earth, after all[2].

She was quite the detective, too, if she figured it out just from the snake[3]. His angel self was kind of associated with them—see: his staff—but still.

‘Yeah, sorry. I won’t ask,’ she promised. He wasn’t sure he believed her. If she knew who he was, she knew about his _Fall_ , too. ‘It’s not every day you get to meet someone like you though, you know? I barely got used to the idea of Lucifer being, you know, _Lucifer_.’

‘It hasn’t been long then?’ he asked. It was a mostly rhetorical question, because Lucifer did mention something about her going on a vacation to Europe and the Vatican specifically last year, just before the Nopocalyse had, well, not happened.

‘No. He showed me his Devil Face on accident last year, and I took my daughter and ran to the _Vatican_ because I wanted to _exorcise_ him,’ she confirmed. ‘Didn’t exactly handle it well.’

‘Mhmm,’ he said, because what else was there to say? Although, Luci didn’t mention _exorcising_. ‘But you didn’t, did you? ‘Cos that would be hilarious.’

Also, that explained it. The Vatican did have all sorts of interesting, even occult books stashed away in a secret library that Aziraphale has been yearning to be able to read—and steal, probably—for centuries. He’s been there once, centuries ago, and always got all moony-eyed when he so much as approached the Italian borders.

‘Hilarious. Right,’ Chloe half-laughed. She probably didn’t share his opinion.

‘So.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘You said you wanted to talk to him?’

She leant against the wall and put her hair behind her ears again. Her gaze was fixed on the other side of the street. ‘I just want to know what’s happening.’

‘He’s doing all that he can to get back here, that much I can tell you,’ Crowley said, mirroring her pose. ‘He _really_ doesn’t want to stay in Hell. There’s—fuck, you don’t know the half of it, but let’s just say that Heaven and Hell have both been a right mess lately, and it’s all because he’s fighting so hard to get back. To you. I had to go there and stop a big rebellion ‘cos of it. He wanted to keep the Throne but didn’t want to have to sit on it… yeah, it’s been one _hell_ of a mess. There’s a parliament now though, and he’s thinking like a month, two tops before can leave at least semi-permanently.’

At least it was so the last time he checked, but a lot could change in Hell in a week despite the demons’ stubborn penchant for being at least twenty years behind on everything at any given time.

Also, he wasn’t about to even begin to describe the mess that was his life and his recent hellish adventures to her, because that was too fucking much even for him, in case you didn’t notice.

Chloe turned to him. She blinked back disbelieving, hopeful tears. ‘Two months? Really?’

‘If things go well,’ he semi-nodded. ‘They probably won’t, but he’s a determined bastard.’

‘Yeah, he is,’ she agreed, shaking his head fondly. She put a hand to her mouth and then ran it through her hair. ‘Okay. I can handle that. I’ve gotten so far, and I spent the first two months denying I even missed him.’ There was a pregnant pause. ‘And the demons, they tried to hurt us and take Charlie. Are we safe? Is LA safe?’

‘Oh, yeah, we dealt with them. You guys should be fine; it’s us across the pond who are about to have some mild demon trouble. And angel trouble. Trouble in general,’ he grimaced. ‘That’s my problem though, not yours.’

Amenadiel did say that they could track him down even in LA, however, so he hoped history wouldn’t repeat itself here. That would just be awkward.

‘Do you… live on Earth like Amenadiel? Is your husband human? Are they giving you trouble over that? Is that a bad thing for an angel?’ she asked. ‘Sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but—’

‘Nah, ‘s fine,’ he said, vaguely waving his hand. Questions like that were the less difficult ones. ‘Aziraphale is an angel, but we’ve been on Earth for the last 6000 and change years, and it’s true that liking it—and humans—too much is, well, undesirable on both sides. It’s, err—said it was complicated. Anyway. I can call him if you want. Lucifer.’

He took his mobile and opened contacts. There, under B, was the contact Boss, which he still hasn’t renamed even if it’s been almost a year since he officially stopped working for him.

‘Call him. On the phone,’ Chloe said dryly.

‘Yep.’ Crowley shook the phone in his hand, grinning. ‘The reception’s pretty bad, and your call probably wouldn’t get through because everything in Hell’s old as hat and incompatible with Earth tech, but mine would[4]. I could call him through a radio if I wanted. That simple.’

She stared at the phone as if it were the Holy Grail or something. ‘Yeah, I—that would be great. Thank you, Crowley.’

‘Don’t mention it.’ He pressed dial and waited for a minute. It usually took that long. Longer if the being on the other side was busy; you just had to try again until you either reached who you wanted or were put on indefinite hold with the words “wait a minute, Beelzebub has a devil put aside for you”.

‘Crowley?’ said Lucifer’s voice on the other side shortly, curiously confused.

‘Yeah, hi,’ Crowley said. ‘Listen, everything’s fine, I’ve just got someone who really wants to talk to you here. Can I pass you on?’

‘Who is it?’ he asked warily.

‘Surprise,’ Crowley said, throwing Chloe another grin.

‘Well, fine, I suppose anything’s better than dealing with demons,’ Lucifer sighed. Crowley nodded in sympathy, which he couldn’t see. ‘Have you heard about the Cult’s reaction to the memories?’

‘Yeah, I have,’ he said sourly. ‘Rae’s been here. Hey, d’you have any idea if they’ll be coming up…?’

‘I do, and the idea is that they will, because it’s better to let them wait out the queue and go than risk another big rebellion. Sorry.’

‘Ffhn. Can’t be helped. I’m sure Aziraphale will smite them if they make too much trouble.’ He grinned at the idea. Those were demons who were loyal to him for some misguided reason, but still. He’d enjoy that like anything. ‘Have _you_ heard about Heaven?’

Chloe cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. He lifted a just-a-second finger.

‘You mean Michael? Beelzebub’s told me, yes. Good luck, brother,’ he laughed. ‘I’m mostly glad she hates me too much to bother coming to visit _me_. Now, didn’t someone want to talk to me…?’

‘Oh, yeah. Cheerio.’ He passed the mobile to Chloe. He was a curious, sometimes even nosey being by nature, but he _didn’t_ want to know where that conversation would go. Probably Places, and Lucifer was his former boss and his brother, no thank you. Too private. He pointed at the entrance to the bar and then, after Chloe mouthed another meaningful _thank you_ to him, sauntered back inside.

He found his table again, complete with Linda, Maze, Ella, and their drinks. The former asked, somewhat tipsily, ‘Where’s Chloe?’

‘On the phone,’ he said simply. He noticed that three cocktails were already missing a third of the liquid and promptly set to remedying his own glass’s fullness. It was a strawberry daiquiri this time. Ella and Maze sipped at their mai tais and talked about dating—one mentioned something about a serial killer? He hasn’t heard that one, and, what[5]? But as curious as he was about weird stuff, gossipy stuff, or both, all this talk about partners and waiting… it just made him think of Aziraphale again.

He thought-dialled him. _Hey, angel. Still up?_

 _It’s seven-forty,_ he said in the way of an answer. _Naturally._

 _So listen,_ Crowley said, twirling the straw in his glass. _I’ve just briefly talked to Lucifer, and first off, you might get some unwanted visitors while I’m here—_

_As you’ve mentioned. I put up a sign and some light warding._

_A sign_ , Crowley repeated, deadpan.

 _On the door, yes,_ Aziraphale explained briefly—that is, didn’t really explain much. He did project an image though[6]. _You were about to say…?_

 _What? Oh yeah. Was just wondering._ He took a sip. It was an odd situation he’d rather not think about, but the idea of the likely improbable but still possible directions of Chloe and Lucifer’s phonecall has given him an idea. _How do you feel about phone sex? Mind sex? Mind-phone sex?_

* * *

1 Chloe waved at the ladies and signalled at the bar and the entrance as they went out so they’d know to grab the drinks when they were ready. Linda gave her the thumbs-up and a wide grin, and yep, she was definitely a little drunk already. She couldn’t blame her. Parenting was hardest in the early stages—and during puberty, she’s heard, and oh god, Trixie was 11 already, time flew _way_ too fast.[✿]

2 The Bible, the Quran, and similar religious texts were only a few thousand years old, whereas the War had happened a few million years ago. If Raphael had Fallen, he couldn’t be mentioned as the Healer in those, could he? He couldn’t be known at all. Only celestials and the extra-terrestrial civilisations knew about him. Not humans. God and the Archangels may have said a few things though, you know, about there _having been_ a Raphael once.[✿]

3 Well, that and his previous comment about being kicked out with Lucifer. It took a while, but her brain figured it out, in the end. The only other Fallen Archangel was Raphael, according to the books she’d borrowed from Father Kinley. She hadn’t paid attention to that, but apparently, she remembered it anyway.[✿]

4 A human couldn’t just ring someone in Hell even if they did have their number, no, it took a celestial being. Crowley had an EE SIM card and an earthly phone number too, but his mobile was demonically powered—not only tapped into the frequency, but also cleverly convinced that it would always connect despite the dimension barrier, and so it did. It was all about the user.[✿]

5 Ella had dated a serial killer. A _serial killer_. It’s been like three weeks since they arrested him, but she was still shaken, and still couldn’t believe her goddamn luck. That wasn’t even a bad boy anymore, that was a _psychopath_. She was staying away from men now. Definitely. Absolutely. No dating. Just work and Tribe Nights.[✿]

6 It was a piece of paper taped to the front door. It read, “If you are a neighbour in want or need of help, advice, or a nice cup of tea, do come in. If you are one of Crowley’s siblings, another representative of either side, or a door-to-door salesman, GO AWAY. P.S. Crowley isn’t here.”[✿]


	54. Partially Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally intended to show only the beginning of the phone call in the last chapter, in a scenario where Crowley didn't immediately leave, but then 5A happened and I had to give it one of its own. Wrote it yesterday. Warning: it's got spoilers. A lot of them, because it's basically me incorporating a Michael-less version of it into the fic. Also, I'm hoping it'll make sense even to those of you who don't watch Lucifer...

At this point, Lucifer wasn’t even sullen or angry or exasperated anymore. Or at least not _only_ that. No, it’s been too long, and he was getting well and truly _bored_. Hell used to be different, back in the day, but now it was just countless paperwork and meetings that didn’t lead anywhere productive and rarely went without a few daggers thrown across the room.

Demons. They were almost more uncivilised than human politicians and yet insisted on all these rules and procedures and millennia-old customs. A constitution was one thing…

But he had to endure it. For Chloe.

If he hopped into a few Hell Loops and watched some miserable guilty sods punish themselves over and over with the help of demon actors in the meantime, well. Everyone needed entertainment, and the one slightly less horrible thing about Hell was the live cinema. He even helped figure out who did a few of those poor sods in and gave this one demon a temporary Possession Permit so he could give the Detective the clues. For old times’ sake. Guess he missed solving crimes, too. Or maybe he was just procrastinating.

The House of Lords have mostly got over Crowley—it’s been a few days and more than a few threats—but that didn’t mean they suddenly stopped being useless. He had to do _everything_ around here, honestly. Yes, he was the King, obviously, but few besides Beelzebub really seemed to understand the words “parliamentary monarchy” and “working independently” yet, which was frustrating, because they _should_.

As if they haven’t been doing that for the last _eight years_ [1].

So here he was, watching a random Singaporean bloke who died in 2008 reliving his guiltiest memory for the sixth time—or was it seventh already?—and occasionally talking to him. Anything was better than dealing with demons. Which he was supposed to be doing. Other than those in the loops, that is[2].

He said as much to Crowley when he called him out of the blue during the eighth or ninth replay. He mentioned that _he_ would have to deal with them too, which he didn’t sound too happy about. Self-evidently.

‘Now, didn’t someone want to talk to me…?’

‘Oh, yeah. Cheerio,’ Crowley said, and then there were some rustling noises as he passed the phone to said person. Lucifer hoped it wouldn’t be one of the siblings. The odds of them tracking Crowley down and then borrowing his phone to call him were low, but still.

It wasn’t. It was the last person he expected, and the person he wanted to talk to the most.

‘Hi, Lucifer,’ said Chloe Decker, voice brittle.

Lucifer did what any self-respecting Archangel in his position would: he stopped time in the loop and thus prevented the human and demons from listening. It was an outdoor scene, so he found a bench and plopped onto it.

‘Detective, is that you? What—what are you—’

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ she breathed. ‘Crowley’s here in LA and kind of ran into us in a bar, and I asked if I could—god, this must be like the third time this is happening to us but the first we actually managed to talk.’

He reflexively cringed at the mention of his Parent and thought about that time he was in LA two months ago and hadn’t visited her. It would make his current predicament worse, he’d thought then, but he was probably an idiot. He wasn’t going to tell her that.

Also, he had questions about Crowley, but first things first.

‘Please don’t bring my Father into this,’ he said. ‘But otherwise talk away; you would not _believe_ how dreadfully bored I am here, and hearing your voice has lifted my spirits more than perfectly filled paperwork or a meeting without someone arguing for five minutes ever could. How are you? How’s the precinct? I do hope that you haven’t moved on too quickly, although I would not object too much if he’s handsome and willing to share.’

‘Lucifer, stop,’ she said, and he couldn’t see her face, but he could _hear_ the eye-roll. ‘There’s no one else. Not ever[3]. I’ll be waiting for you for as long as I have to.’

She sounded like she meant it, and oh, _Chloe_.

A part of his mind got busy concocting a plan on how to make the demons work more quickly and efficiently so that wait wouldn’t have to be needlessly long. She was right; they’ve been separated for months one too many times.

‘I shan’t be too long, I hope, although the demons are a royal pain in my royal arse, let me tell you,’ he said. ‘Dad knows they won’t make it easy.’

‘Who’s bringing God into it now?’ she pointed out jokingly. The corner of Lucifer’s mouth jerked up. There was a pause, but then she spoke again. ‘Yeah, he told me. Two months, he said? And something about a parliament? How _does_ Hell even work?’

‘Complicatedly,’ Lucifer answered, very eloquent. ‘I don’t want to burden you with the details, Detective; all you need to know is that I have things perfectly under control, and two months might even be an exaggeration. I—’ His voice hitched.

He took a deep breath. For someone who abhorred lies[4], he was terrible at talking about his true feelings. Linda has even said that to him, on multiple occasions. But she deserved those. He was—he was already vulnerable around her. ‘I miss you, Chloe. And I can’t wait to get out of this—well, this _hellhole_ and see you again.’

‘Me too,’ she said earnestly. ‘I miss my partner.’

For a while, there was only silence on the line. Lucifer could hear traffic noises and the usual city bustle in the background. She had to be outside somewhere. Didn’t she mention a bar? Was it Tribe Night? He’s seen Los Angeles plenty of times in other Hell Loops, but there was the real thing, so close and yet still unreachable.

‘Speaking of,’ he said, his usual lilt back in service, ‘have you got those clues I sent you? Amazing, aren’t I, solving crimes all the way from Hell[5]?’

‘I did, yeah, and thank you. Those really helped, especially the one with the—with the safe, if you remember, once we figured out what it meant,’ Chloe said. ‘But _please_ stop doing it from now on. I’m actually begging you.’

Lucifer blinked in confusion. She was sending some mixed signals here. ‘Whatever for? You’ve _just_ said I helped.’

‘Okay, first off, I _can_ actually solve cases without you. Maze and, strangely enough, Amenadiel have been helping. But most importantly, those corpse-possessing demons[6] are _super_ creepy and disgusting and the last time, one almost caught me when Ella and Dan were there.’

‘Demon, singular,’ Lucifer said, because they didn’t say the devil was in the detail for nothing. ‘But fine, I suppose Miss Lopez and Detective Douche finding out this way would be less than ideal.’ He has frankly forgotten about that possibility. Stupid demons, they couldn’t even find the right timing. ‘You are spoiling my fun though, you do realise that, right?’

‘Well.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you when you come back, won’t I?’

Lucifer brightened up. So did the weather in the loop. ‘Oh, do tell.’

‘I didn’t mean—like _that_ ,’ she laughed, embarrassed. ‘I meant with the cases. Erm.’

Ah, well. But all still wasn’t lost yet, right, because sex usually tended to be a part of successful long-term relationships[7], and that was absolutely what he was willing to try with Chloe Decker. A relationship. Like a proper, serious angel. He’d wait for her for as long as she needed. ‘We’ll see. Now, did you say _Amenadiel_ was helping you?’

‘Yeah. There was this case with a nun—I suppose you wouldn’t meet her in a Hell Loop[8]—and he was surprisingly good at getting information out of them. He made them all _swoon_ , actually,’ she snorted. ‘He’s running LUX now too, did you know?’

‘I did,’ he said sourly. He’d left Maze in charge, but she was now co-running it with him, as she’d told him when he’d visited. After she’d kicked his arse. He wasn’t too pleased with that, because knowing his brother, he’d turn his den of sin into a den of—well, not-sin. Ugh. ‘Tell me, how bad is it?’

‘It’s great, actually!’ Chloe exclaimed. He spluttered. ‘Maze and I have been coming there like, _all_ the time. It may not exactly be your style, but… he’s doing a good job, Lucifer.’

‘Still. All the more reason for me to come back,’ he said, indignant. The fake clouds covered the fake sun again. His club meant a _lot_ to him, in case you haven’t noticed. ‘Has Crowley been there yet? I’ve been telling him to, and since he’s in LA— _why_ is he in LA, actually?’

‘I think he’s staying with him and Linda? Needed to talk to them about something, some—family trouble. I’m guessing it’s the same family trouble as yours? And I think he’s avoiding it. LUX.’

Pity. But also, _good_ , because he should see the club in its prime, not Amenadiel’s version of it.

‘He’s the reason we can even talk now. Besides lending you his phone, that is,’ Lucifer said. ‘He’s annoying and a bit cowardly, but he’s not such an awful brother, I suppose. Finally taking responsibility.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I asked him to take the Throne when we Fell,’ he explained. It didn’t bring up any bitter memories at all. ‘But he crawled away instead and doomed me to this fate. King of Hell. He’s older, you know.’

‘Oh,’ Chloe said in the stunned tone that tended to make an appearance when she discovered something that he failed to mention for years because it was irrelevant until that given moment but was, according to her and everyone else, _very_ relevant. Humans were still confusing sometimes.

‘He didn’t mention that,’ she added, and he _has_ actually learnt something too, because he could tell that there was an unspoken _and neither did you_.

‘I suppose not. But it’s been aeons; I’m over it now. I could never really blame him, because guess what, I didn’t want it either,’ he all but growled. ‘But I don’t want to talk about _him_ ; tell me all about—’

Someone opened the door to the Hell Loop and walked inside, fully mobile. The demon was holding a tablet and looking nervous. Lucifer shot him a look so deadly his nervousness tripled, but it didn’t deter him from approaching him and clearing his throat. ‘My—my lord. Beelzebub requests your presence immediately, I am to tell you. In fact, her exact words were _five minutes ago_.’

‘Lucifer?’ asked Chloe on the phone.

‘Hold on a second, Detective,’ he told her and turned to the unfortunate demon. ‘What does she want?’

He knew what she wanted. He’s mentioned that he wasn’t supposed to be sitting here and doing nothing. But he was the King, and he rather thought he deserved a bloody _break_.

Eric showed him the tablet. There was surveillance footage from the meeting room. CCTV cameras were something Hell now had in the Castle and right outside, thanks to Lucifer and his experience with their usefulness for catching criminals, and they showed one of the Marquises painfully discorporating three others and Beelzebub shouting something incomprehensible at them, Hellfire at the ready. ‘That was two minutes ago,’ he noted.

‘Imbeciles,’ Lucifer sighed. They weren’t rioting anymore, but stick all high-ranking demons in one room together, and someone will _always_ fight. Yep, the parliament still needed work. Especially the seating order. ‘I’ll sort it out. Now scram.’

‘What’s happening?’ Chloe asked, worried.

‘Demons,’ he said. It didn’t need an explanation, he didn’t think. ‘I’m terribly sorry, darling, but I must go. Steal Amenadiel’s phone and call me again sometime though, will you?’

‘I can do that?’

‘Yes, should work just fine. Any celestial can do it provided they have my number.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me that earlier, you idiot? Why didn’t he, or, or Maze?’

‘I—well, I didn’t think of that at the time of my hasty departure. Maze is too mad at me, and Amenadiel is too thick to think of it and offer,’ he scoffed. ‘And I couldn’t call you myself. I didn’t—’ His voice trailed off.

‘Didn’t what?’ Chloe prodded.

‘I didn’t want to, at first, because I thought it would hurt,’ he confessed. He was glad to be alone, or at least in a paused loop, because his wings itched with discomfort. He still didn’t like talking about this. ‘Sending up a demon with case clues was safer.’

‘You _are_ an idiot. Maybe _I_ didn’t feel that way,’ she said, voice breaking. ‘And I don’t think you did either. _Three months_ , Lucifer.’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ he said, and surprised himself by meaning it. His lips stretched in a smile. ‘It’s been lovely talking to you.’

‘You too, Lucifer. Talk to you soon, yeah?’

‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said. ‘Well, I should go and deal with those stabby demons. Goodbye, Detective.’

‘Bye. I—’ she began, but he already hung up and shoved his mobile into his jacket, getting up. He restarted the loop with a wave of his hand and walked out. He did, unfortunately, have stabby demons to deal with. Bloody Hell.

His step was a little lighter, though, and his mind a little less frustrated. All he could think about was her beautiful face and her exasperation with his antics—so much so that he failed to notice that the _real_ clouds above the city have considerably whitened and almost, _almost_ let the sun peep out.

* * *

1 They have, but they’ve been doing it all wrong. They didn’t run anything important by Lucifer, for one, which was the major flaw in the previous, uncontrolled organisation. He might have left, but he still thought he _should_ be included in something so big as the _Apocalypse_ happening. Or, you know, executing a demon with Holy Water. And something really had to be done about the exorbitant amounts of paperwork. Hell was meant to be unpleasant, but the _souls_ were the tortured ones, and besides, they were running out of room for storing the quanta of paper. Again. He’s already doubled the Archive space twelve times. They were going digital like it or fucking not.[✿]

2 Loop demons were the lowest on the professional and social ladder. Usually Lilim. They didn’t care for much else besides their work. They also made up most of the entire demon population and the majority of those who didn’t want to go and fight any angels in a war, because what good—or bad, rather—would that do? Their purpose was to torture souls. That was it. They rather agreed with Crowley. It wasn’t bad having him as King for a few minutes. They could soon be elected into this new House of Commons thanks to him, and there they could tell the higher-ups that![✿]

3 Her ex, whom she ran into during a case, had other ideas, but she told him the same thing. Unlike him, she was completely over him, and nothing could get between Lucifer and her, not when they were finally _good_.[✿]

4 That wasn’t a lie, about having things under control. It was a self-reassurance.[✿]

5 He’s been doing these loop excursions since June, before Crowley has got there. He managed to figure out three cases which he found to be murders and have happened in LA: a criminal on his yacht, his old pal Matt Owens and the lead actor of his show, and a suburban housewife whose case was less boring than he’d originally thought. That one was last week.[✿]

6 Human possession was banned, but when it still needed to happen for some reason, it was extremely difficult to possess a living person. The movies made it seem simple, but in reality, the humans fought much more, and it was difficult to even find a receptive body in the first place. It just wasn’t worth it, even if the host was happy to serve. In those cases, they were just annoying, because they wanted to _chatter_. For that reason, demons possessed the corpses of the recently deceased and damned. No one to bug them there—it was a nice and handy meatsuit, perfect for delivering express messages.[✿]

7 Unless you fell somewhere within the asexual spectrum, of course, which was something Lucifer fully respected. Sex was all sorts of amazing, but not everyone liked it or even the idea of it, and that was fine and absolutely valid. Most angel relationships were asexual, in fact. Nothing wrong with that—and don’t let anyone say otherwise.[✿]

8 Nuns weren’t an entirely uncommon sight in Hell, particularly Satanic ones. Neither were clerics of all religions, and there lay the irony. But no, he hasn’t seen a recently murdered Los Angeles nun there.[✿]


	55. Apology Accepted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise Aziraphale POV chapter :)

Crowley was, perhaps, not built for fretting and faffing about, but the same could certainly not be said of Aziraphale. There was no place for such a thing as boredom in his vocabulary; he was a slower creature by nature and had no trouble spending a week carefully reading one book after another when no better occasion presented itself.

When Crowley wasn’t around, that was.

Like now.

It was a bit of a bother when the demon—not, not a demon anymore, though he did _not_ like to be reminded even if it was simply the truth—when Crowley wasn’t nearby, especially right now, but there was nothing that could be done. He was right. That journey was for him and him alone to take, as had been many others in the past. They were his own issues and his own bothersome siblings. Aziraphale inherited those when he bonded with him, that was all.

Well, to be quite honest. This wasn’t what he’d imagined his life to turn out to be, exactly. He hadn’t lied when he said that he’d always be there for Crowley and continue to endure his annoying demonic presence—that is, love him with all of his being, of course—regardless of who he was or had been. He meant that. But things had, overall, been simpler when he was just a lowly hellish fiend with a good heart rather than a bloody _Archangel._

That couldn’t be helped either. Obviously. But his own petulant avoidance of the subject made it a tad difficult for everyone, let’s be honest. Aziraphale has barely just got used to the idea, and the next thing he knew, he was serving wedding cake to the whole bickering family because Crowley carried this life with him whether he liked it or not.

And then he Ascended, and Things became even more difficult.

But it would pass. What were a few uncertain months, spent apart and fending off various irksome angels, against all those to come in eternity? This was nothing. Yes, Crowley barely spoke a word to him these days and purposefully blocked his mind, and Aziraphale wasn’t going to pretend that he wasn’t miffed about it, but it couldn’t be worse than the 19th century. He’d come back and be himself again in no time.

With a new flavour to him, perhaps. He did feel different to him; Aziraphale didn’t like to mention it because it upset him, but he did. Still Crowley, but brighter, warmer, less sulphurous and blackhole-y. And oh, those lovely eyes. Aziraphale wished Crowley didn’t hate them and didn’t think that Aziraphale had hated his snake eyes only because he always seemed to get so lost in these.

He could never. Not a part of his darling demon[1]. Angel. Being.

Darn it.

In the meantime, Aziraphale picked up an illustrated first edition of Blake’s _The Marriage of Heaven and Hell_ , mint condition, and settled on the sofa with a nice cup of tea and some shortbread as his company. It’s been a while since he’s reread this one. Oh, William had been a good friend of his once. Astonishingly bright and perceptive for a human. It was such a shame that they’d called him mad in his time and hadn’t given him and his works the recognition they deserved until after his death.

Perhaps he’s been picking a particular kind of titles lately, what of it?

Either way, he had his texts and took his time to savour them. There was no rush, nothing to do. He’s already extended a blessing on the area within a two-mile radius of the cottage earlier in the morning, and then there was the hour or two when Crowley was just that kind of tipsy to forget his pains and troubles and came up with an _exquisite_ idea of what else could be done with the bond.

It was almost as if nothing unusual was going on at all. Also, rather messy. But the good kind. The tension-relieving kind. The this-is-not-very-nice-is-it-but-was-the-orgasm-amazing kind[2].

Hours passed. Crowley’s feelings and emotions were always in the back of his mind, and he was reading Richard Siken’s _Crush_ now, because occasionally, he did actually pick up something more modern, thank you very much.

In fact, he was so absorbed in his reading that he almost missed someone ignoring the sign on the door and trying to get in.

Although the sign did not forbid _everyone_ from entering, did it? Perhaps they had a legitimate reason for visiting. Maybe he should check before jumping to conclusions. He placed a bookmark in the small book, laid it aside, and got up. As he took short but determined steps towards the door, he made a move to smooth his waistcoat, forgetting he wasn’t wearing one. Just a shirt tucked into his trousers.

He could sense the ethereal aura before he even put a hand on the handle. A strong one, rather like Crowley’s, but also different. Darn it twice.

They must have heard him coming though, and could very well force their way inside. Aziraphale harrumphed. Well, there was no other option than opening the door, was there? Luckily for him, he’s had two centuries of practice when it came to deterring customers with perfectly polite ways, and Upstairs had no real power over him anymore. This was no different.

He put on his best Customer Smile and swung the door open. Behind it stood none other than the Archangel Michael.

‘Aziraphale,’ she said curtly, hands behind her back and cheeks lacking the golden marks. Not the golden make-up, though. Her blouse was golden to match. He had to admit, at least she had style.

‘Michael,’ he said in return. ‘Have you not read the sign? Crowley’s not here.’

‘I noticed, yes[3], but I do wish to talk to him. Do you know where he is?’

‘I do,’ he answered. ‘But you could find out yourself, couldn’t you? You’re siblings, after all.’

He felt odd saying that. He still couldn’t get properly used to his Crowley being _her_ sibling. And Gabriel’s. And _Lucifer’s_.

‘I could,’ she said, battling his smile with her own. ‘Or you could tell me.’

Except—she could, couldn’t she? But she wasn’t leaving. She insisted on asking Aziraphale despite the warnings. That could only mean one thing: she wanted to talk to him too. He swallowed, not sure how to feel about that. Was it a tea kind of situation, or a flaming sword kind of situation?

‘Well, I suppose I could,’ he said, cautious and still blocking the entrance. ‘If you told me why you insist on bothering me, because we both know it isn’t really about Crowley. Just established that.’

Michael pursed her lips, clearly out of her comfort zone. She’s never liked Aziraphale. None of them did. He could pretend that he hadn’t noticed, but he wasn’t that naïve. They’d probably taken pleasure in demoting him after the Garden fiasco. Taking his secondary wings.

‘Can I come inside?’ she asked. Aziraphale agreed that this was a bit awkward and ushered her in and to the sitting room. She sat in one of the armchairs, and he returned to the sofa, bringing his cup of tea to his lips and raising an eyebrow.

The invisible scars on his immaterial form tingled as if on cue, and he did his best to ignore it.

‘Well, I suppose—I suppose I wanted to apologise. Sincerely, this time,’ she said, still a bit stiffly and uncomfortably, but from her aura, he could tell that she _was_ being sincere.

‘Oh?’ he prodded, once he placed the cup on the saucer. He didn’t offer her any.

‘We may have… treated you too cruelly when all you did was do your job. Protect humans. And was— _friends_ with your demonic counterpart instead of smiting him when you should have because he was—’

‘Kind. And a good conversationalist, most days.’ Aziraphale let out a little fond sigh. ‘And the only one who could—well, relate, I suppose. After thousands of years, there are only so many people you can talk to.’

He wasn’t going to mention the Arrangement though. It was likely that Upstairs never found out about it, and he wasn’t going to clue them in now. Better they thought he _had_ actually been doing his job.

‘I’ve known about Gabriel and Beelzebub,’ she said apropos of nothing. She eyed his biscuits. ‘I’ve known the entire time and let it slide, but when it was you, I tried to execute you for the exact same thing. Having someone who understood you—on the other side.’

Naturally. Gabriel was her brother. She hadn’t known Crowley was one too—if she had, would she have intervened? Perhaps so, as the recent events revealed, but they’d never know. What they did know was that Heaven wasn’t as neutral and unbiased as it claimed to be.

‘As long as it doesn’t repeat, there is no sense on dwelling on that, I’d think. Wouldn’t you say?’ he said, giving her a pointed glare a tad colder than should be possible in the height of summer. It wouldn’t go amiss to keep her under the impression that he could summon up Hellfire for a litter longer.

He lifted the plate and held it out. ‘Biscuit? They’re vanilla with a dash of lemon zest.’

‘No, thank you,’ she declined. She was mulling a nagging thought over. Aziraphale’s persistent gaze made her voice it. ‘How is he?’

‘As well as you’d imagine, probably. It’s not every day that everyone remembers who you used to be and kicks up enough fuss to be worth having a meeting about,’ he said, helping himself to one of the biscuits. Again, he did not mention that there was a whole other reason for Crowley’s angsting. ‘I must admit I like where you’re going with things. I suppose that’s at least some good that came out of—’ He waved a hand with half a biscuit in the air. ‘All this.’

‘We got memories of our brother back,’ she noted.

Ah, yes. That.

‘The question is, does he want you in his life again? You must realise that it’s been two million years for him,’ he said. He sipped at his tea. ‘Now, if that will be all…’

She got the clue and got up, dusting her trousers[4]. ‘And his location?’

‘Amenadiel’s house, but I’m fairly sure you’ve figured that out already,’ he answered with another tight-lipped smile. ‘Mind what I said though, will you? Your lot is precisely why he’s hiding out there. He’d rather talk to him than you. He hasn’t exactly er, _told me_ , per se, but I know that he blames you for his Fall, and that he’s not wrong.’

She nodded and said, ‘I understand.’

He got up as well and beckoned her out of the room and then out of the cottage proper. There was a _do you?_ on his mind, but he didn’t say it, because the millennia of custom drilled into his being deemed that deplorable, even now.

‘Thank you; I accept your apology,’ he said instead. ‘I think that everyone would be happiest if you were to steer clear of this place in the future unless invited by Crowley personally, though, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I have no desire to talk to you again,’ she said honestly, because her kind of angels was nothing but bluntly honest most of the time. ‘God be with you, Aziraphale.’

Michael teleported away, and he had a strong feeling that she ignored everything he’s said and went straight to Los Angeles. Still—this went rather well for the fact that she stood by as Uriel kicked him in the gut and planned his execution last year. If only it had been so in the past…

Oh, well. He said it himself; there was no sense in dwelling on that, however bitter he was and would continue to be about the whole affair. Agnes Nutter had saved their arses, yes, but the mere fact that they had wanted to kill him and _Crowley_ , _his demon_ , erase him straight from existence, well, that would always sting a little.

He had no desire to return to the City for certain, and neither did Crowley, so it was all good and well.

And speaking of— _darling, I think I must warn you that you’re about to have a visitor. Better—better brace yourself_.

_Too late, angel_ , said Crowley, somewhat grumbly. _She’s already here. But at least Amenadiel and Maze are here too, and the latter is very willing to stab someone._

_Good luck,_ Aziraphale sent back together with a wave of support and love, though he was still getting the hang of transmitting feelings like that, so he wasn’t sure of its success. _Tell me how it went?_

* * *

1 Maybe except for the smell. Demons couldn’t help it, just as much as angels couldn’t help smelling holy, but that had certainly taken some getting used to. He stopped minding it thousands of years ago, because it was just Crowley and didn’t mean _danger_ , but that didn’t mean he _missed it_.[✿]

2 It was weird at first. And rather embarrassing, just lying in bed by himself and _touching_. But with their minds and essences linked, it was soon almost like they were both there. Where Crowley touched any part of his body, Aziraphale could feel it on his own and vice versa, and taking a swim in the bright pools of their intermixed souls on the metaphysical plane was just—well, divine. On both sides this time. And since Crowley was staying on a sofa bed in his brother’s house, he had the bright idea to switch things up down there to make it less messy, and now _that_ was an experience for Aziraphale. Feeling it.

Aziraphale was also embarrassed about this, but he briefly wondered what it would be like when someone _else_ did the touching. Mazikeen certainly seemed willing… but no, he wasn’t going to bring that up. They haven’t discussed this kind of thing yet, and it was better to have that conversation face to face. In the future.[✿]

3 She also noticed the wards, put up to keep angels _and_ demons out. But Aziraphale was only a Principality, and she was an Archangel. She could easily counteract them with enough effort and determination to get inside, which she most definitely had—even if she thought of a hundred better things to do than this whole charade. But it was—needed.[✿]

4 Preposterous. There wasn’t dust piling on his things anymore. Crowley made sure of that. And besides, he didn’t need it to deter customers here; this was his home, and he preferred to live in a clean environment too.[✿]


	56. A Few Confessions

Crowley was lounging on The Sofa, not sleeping off a hangover only thanks to his awesome ability to do away with those as soon as the state of being pleasantly hazy stopped agreeing with him, when it happened. In fact, he was trying to entertain his nephew, who seemed to have taken even more of a liking to him now that there was no demonic energy to him.

Not that that was much to go by. He’s also taken an alarming liking to Mazikeen.

Crowley had miracled up a small snake plushie for him earlier, realistic but still one of those colourful tropical species that was more attractive to an infant than, say, a common adder would. He was making hissing sounds and pretending that the snake was alive and wanted to eat Charlie’s nose, which the little angel found incredibly amusing and flapped his little unfledged wings at.

He’d probably like his snake form, Crowley mused, and made a note of trying later.

Amenadiel had been trying to have another one of those Conversations, but Linda[1] had gone to get groceries, which she couldn’t do yesterday because of him, and Charlie then proceeded to make any attempts at talking to Crowley futile. Not that he complained. He didn’t mind the bloody least.

But he was—well, all in all, some of that restless, listless, anxious energy had evaporated somewhat. Not all, but he wasn’t feeling like an immense failure of a demon—angel—whatever anymore. Oh, the doubt was there, and the thought of losing everything all over again because of his own tendency to make bad decisions quickly and make up plans to deal with them as he went still niggled at him. But he was used to that stuff.

Like he’d said, one part of his mind was always going through some sort of a crisis, even if his exterior was always cool and laid-back and didn’t let anything show.

The syrupy, starchy warmth he felt from head to tips of his wings wasn’t that bad a development either. He hadn’t wanted any of this, but he’d got it anyway, and he certainly wasn’t going to stroll straight into Heaven and file a complaint. And he didn’t work for Hell anymore anyway.

He was just their backup guy in case things went more wrong than usual, or so the royal decree said.

He was just him, Crowley, the owner of one black Bentley, a tonne of dark clothes[2] he wasn’t going to stop wearing if a host of angels came and shredded them all—an aesthetic was an aesthetic—a cottage complete with garden, and a bit of Aziraphale’s soul nestled beside his.

Wasn’t like _that_ much has changed.

And then Amenadiel called his name and two sets of steps approached the sitting room from the direction of the back door. That wasn’t unusual, as three people—or one person and two people-shaped beings—lived in the house, so he barely looked up from the game of Grab Charlie’s Nose.

‘‘M here,’ he called idly. But he suddenly felt Aziraphale’s consciousness trying to wiggle in closer and a strong and familiar angelic aura incoming. Shit.

‘You have a visitor,’ said Amenadiel uselessly, just in time for Aziraphale to say the same. He added, ‘Michael wants to speak with you.’

 _Too late, angel_ , Crowley grumbled to Aziraphale. _She’s already here. But at least Amenadiel and Maze are here too, and the latter is very willing to stab someone._

Probably, anyway. She always was. And she had Hell-forged blades that could injure an angel.

 _Good luck,_ Aziraphale replied shakily but honestly. _Tell me how it went?_

He’ll probably need to.

He reached into his pocket, where a pair of sunglasses materialised just as he grabbed it, and covered his eyes before she could see. With the same hand, he undid the bun that was keeping most of his hair out of his face, too. The other hand was still holding the stuffed snake.

‘Now it almost _is_ like a family reunion,’ Amenadiel remarked, a hand clasped around Michael’s shoulder. If she was uncomfortable, she didn’t let it show, but Crowley would bet she was. Mazikeen has slipped into the room behind them and skulked near the staircase, arms folded. ‘Look at you two, wanting to talk.’

‘To you,’ Crowley amended. He licked his lips and shifted his gaze at Michael. He liked to think that his expression was unreadable behind the sunglasses. ‘Wouldn’t go so far as to call it a reunion. Or family. We’re far from that.’

‘Crowley,’ Michael said, and he was almost surprised that she called him that on the first try. ‘Wasn’t it you who said we should stop arguing and try to be one again?’

‘Not those exact words, no,’ he snapped back, though he _may_ have said something similar. He sighed. ‘Aziraphale said that we should talk to each other. You’re trying; good for you. What’d you want?’

‘I know we haven’t seen… eye to eye during our last meeting,’ she said, purposefully glancing at his sunglasses, which, no thanks, they were staying on. ‘You’re a demon—’ Crowley resisted the urge to laugh[3]— ‘but you’re my brother. And I’m ready to talk. And listen.’

‘Please, sit down,’ said Amenadiel, guiding her to the shorter end of the L-shaped sofa. Crowley picked Charlie up and threw her a half-hearted scowl. The boy grabbed the tail end of the snake just as Amenadiel turned to Crowley. ‘I’ll take him. He’s fed and changed; it’s nap time now.’

He gently lifted him and rocked him in his arms. ‘Isn’t it? You need to sleep, little angel, so you could grow.’ Charlie babbled something unintelligible. Being of celestial origin, all present parties understood it as wanting to play some more rather than sleep. ‘Yes, you do, even if you don’t want to. Daddy will put you to bed now. Give Uncle Crowley and Aunt Michael a wave!’

He didn’t. He let out a few more disgruntled sounds and looked like he was about to cry. Amenadiel placed a hand on his forehead and calmed him[4]. Both Crowley and Michael thought it was odd and sort of funny seeing the eldest Archangel cooing at a baby like that, much to their mutual discomfort.

Maze, sitting on the stairs and cleaning her nails with a knife, said, ‘I’ll be watching. And I have a Hell-forged blade.’

‘Are you threatening me, demon?’ Michael asked coldly. She was wrong. She was threatening them both, and answered that with a smirk.

‘Give them a little privacy, Maze,’ Amenadiel told her. He earned a glower for it. ‘I’ll be nearby in case something happens.’

‘Fine,’ she grumbled. She got to her feet and followed Amenadiel and Charlie upstairs, throwing them one last glare before her face disappeared from view.

‘I don’t understand why he lets her live with him,’ Michael said, looking after him. The crease on her brow was strongly disapproving, but also—curious? Trying to work something out? Still. It _was_ disapproving first.

Crowley threw the snake at her while letting out a mighty hiss just to see if he could startle her. She jumped, just a bit, and graced him with the most unimpressed of glares as she took the plushie and put it aside. He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows high. Internally, however, he was laughing.

‘You think you’re being very funny, don’t you?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do, yeah,’ Crowley said with annoying, smug confidence. ‘Care to finally get to the point?’

‘The War and the Fall are in the past. It’s done, and we can’t change it,’ she said after a second or five of contemplation. She glanced at her hands, folded in her lap, but then brought herself to look Crowley in the eye[5] again. ‘But I’ve come to the realisation that I… wish I had listened to you instead of casting you out.’

Crowley blinked. He knew she might say something like that, but it was still odd, hearing those words come out of her mouth. ‘You what?’

‘You weren’t wrong. You might have had the right ideas at the wrong time, about—about free will and the Almighty’s plans, and none of us could see it, none but Lucifer.’

‘I—okay.’ He scratched the side of his cheek. ‘That’s new.’

‘I do have regrets,’ Michael continued. ‘As the human saying goes, God works in mysterious ways, and I believe that what happened, what I’d done to you and—and to him, happened for a reason. But what happened after is—I suppose—on us. I did ask why, though no one answered, so there is that.’

Crowley almost felt like blinking again. ‘You asked why. You.’

‘I will trust you to keep this between us,’ she said, ‘but I understand some of your questions now, because I had the same ones. And so did Gabriel, really. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he’s—well, he’s Gabriel.’

‘Yeah,’ Crowley snorted. Gabriel was a prick. Still surprising though. He cleared his throat. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

It did. A little bit. But he mostly had mixed feelings about it, because she was still somewhat condescending about this whole thing, and then there was the fact that he’d rather not talk to her about the Fall in the first place. Yes, there lay the heart of the issue they had with each other, but still. The urge to hide did _not_ disappear.

‘I don’t expect you to forgive me or anyone else— _can_ demons even forgive?—and I’m still mad at you because _you_ blasphemed and left us, but I recognise our role in that and understand why you never reached out and instead hid yourself. And I’m sorry. I want to give you a second chance.’

She’s probably been talking to Amenadiel, who told her about self-judgement in relation to Falling, and okay, maybe he did let her do it and hide and _leave them_ , but there were just so many things wrong with that sentence. One moment she said he was right, and the next she was back to blaming him for shit in the middle of an apology. Right.

‘You want to give me a second chance?’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘Not want _me_ to give _you_ a second chance. Right. Still implies that you think I was the one who fucked up, or that I want one. Second chance at what, anyway? Being your brother? Redemption? Too late. Too _fucking_ late, Chael, because you’ve got nothing to do with that; it’s everyone’s own business like Amenadiel said. I suggest that if you’re looking for forgiveness, start with yourself and leave me out of it.’

She reached for his hand, which was now gripping the edge of the sofa. He pulled it back and re-crossed his arms, but not before she could touch it. He didn’t mean to let that old nickname[6] slip, either.

Her eyes flitted over his being in search of answers to a question that was no doubt burning on her mind. And she already had them. ‘Crowley? Raphael? I’d swear I could feel—’

‘You felt right,’ he admitted, and he didn’t like how small his voice sounded. Fuck, he’d hoped he could avoid this. He could live with Rae and Amenadiel and Mazikeen knowing, but this spelt Trouble. Then again, it was a matter of time, because it apparently took only so long to notice that one’s aura wasn’t so dark and sucking and sulphury but rather the opposite.

‘How did—’ she began but cut herself off. Her eyes were pleading. ‘Come back to Heaven with me.’

* * *

1 She had had a hangover, but Crowley had taken pity on her and made the awful headache and even worse taste in her mouth go away. He was a healer. Amenadiel wasn’t, so he couldn’t really do that. Pity. She could use someone with that ability around.[✿]

2 He also owned two white shirts, a pair of faded blue jeans, a purple sequin dress, and a poncho that sported all of the colours of the rainbow and more. He was excellent at avoiding wearing those things in the 21st century, and actually, he should just throw everything but the shirts out.[✿]

3 There was already an archangelic and a demonic aura in the house, so that probably confused her. That, and she wasn’t expecting Crowley not to be a demon, so she wasn’t looking. Well, at least it could buy him some time.[✿]

4 Crowley taught him that the last time he was there. Amenadiel had been dumbfounded, because how could he have not thought of it? He was an angel![✿]

5 Well, sunglasses.[✿]

6 Michael, as a rule, despised any nicknames derived from her name. Everyone besides Lucifer, who ignored that and called her whatever, always called her Michael. Except for that one. Crowley and Azrael had been the only ones to use it, and Amenadiel now and then, but it generally disappeared when the former Fell. She hasn’t heard it for—aeons.

English hadn’t existed back then. Her name was pronounced Mikha’el, or more precisely [mɪxʌˈʔel] for those familiar with the IPA, and similarly, the nickname was pronounced Kha’el.[✿]


	57. Old Wounds Reopened

Crowley didn’t even take two seconds to answer, ‘No.’

Michael had the audacity to blink in surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘No. I don’t want to come back to Heaven,’ he repeated as if she didn’t clearly hear him the first time. ‘Neither does Amenadiel or Lucifer or, most importantly, Aziraphale. So forget it. Forget you’ve ever even thought of it.’

‘But you’ve Risen. You’ve truly Risen. You’re an angel again; one of us,’ she continued to plead, very stubbornly, and somehow she made it sound like that solved all the problems. It didn’t. It just complicated them.

‘And that’s mutually exclusive how? You know what “no” means, right?’

‘Negation, denial, or refusal.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. She clearly didn’t know what a rhetorical question was. ‘Yeah, and it ain’t denial. The only thing I’m denying you is the pleasure of seeing me grovel at your feet and beg for mercy. I won’t repeat my past mistakes,’ he said and instantly regretted it. He said too much. He was thinking about it, and the ancient pain he’s spent all those centuries squashing down was coming up for air again. Damn it. He couldn’t be—vulnerable around her.

He mentally shushed his hammering heart and let his head loll to the side. He said, in a perfectly normal calm voice, ‘We clear?’

‘Alright,’ she nodded. ‘But I—’

‘And don’t tell anyone,’ he added, ‘especially Gabriel. The fewer people know the smaller the fuss, and I don’t want anything on the scale of the memories reveal to happen again right now.’

Michael didn’t nod again, but she asked, ‘Who else knows?’

‘Azrael, Amenadiel, Mazikeen, Linda, and obviously Aziraphale,’ he said, counting mental fingers. Then he remembered one more conversation that brought him here. ‘And Adam Young.’

She couldn’t place the name, but then it clicked. ‘The real Antichrist?’

He held up a finger. ‘ _Former_ Antichrist. He stopped by last week. He’s _also_ your nephew, in case you forgot.’

She scrunched her nose in a way that suggested she didn’t but would rather if she did. She looked around the room and firmly avoided eye contact—or eye-to-sunglasses contact. ‘What did you mean—start with myself?’

Crowley let out a throaty sound. ‘You should ask Amenadiel, really. But if I’m guessing right, and I should be because I can literally feel it rolling off of you, you’re pretty guilt-ridden right now and think that talking to me will make it go away, but newsflash: I’m not going to make it easy for ya.’ He paused, and heavy silence hung in the air. But fuck it, she was trying, even if she wasn’t very good at it. He sighed and said, ‘If you let bygones be bygones, move past it, learn from it, forgive yourself, then it’ll go away. That’s—errrr—kinda what happened to me. Subconsciously.’

‘One day and he thinks he’s an expert,’ said an amusedly exasperated voice from the doorway. It was Maze, and this time, she was holding a bottle of her favourite coconut water instead of a knife. Crowley was only slightly reassured.

She wasn’t bad company though, despite being a demon and therefore bad company by definition.

‘Oh shut up,’ he shot back. ‘We’ve been going over these theories for, unhh, a while.’

‘I’ve been listening to it for a year and a half,’ she said, deadpan. ‘Still don’t know why I wanted to live here. It’s all angels and their bullshit[1].’

She peeled herself off the doorjamb and walked back upstairs. Crowley hadn’t noticed her coming down in the first place. Some demons were better at lurking and staying in the shadows than him and it showed. Has she been listening the whole time? He wouldn’t bet against it.

This interruption gave Michael enough time to gather her thoughts and process what he’d said. ‘You didn’t want this,’ she stated. _This_ being his newfound angelness, he guessed.

‘No. Why would I? You Upstairs have certainly given me no reasons to.’ He threw an arm over the backrest, where it reached just far enough to idly play with the tassels of the afghan that was thrown over it[2]. The green nail polish still adorned his nails, not daring to chip. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Michael. You know why I’m pissed at you? ‘S not because of the Fall. Sure, it felt worse than landing in a pit of boiling sulphur, being cast out by you, but I got over it in the end.’

His mind might disagree right now, forcing him to go through a few flashbacks, but he was generally over it, shut up. He hasn’t realised all those things and Risen for nothing.

‘No, what’s really bothering me is that you tried to execute Aziraphale. _Execute. Aziraphale._ For nothing. And cruelly, too. And, _sure_ , he didn’t die, but that was just an inconvenience for you, and now you’re blaming this—this lack of memories or whatever but you _had_ all the _other_ memories. It was all you. You deliberately chose to forget, Amen says, and I think he’s right. Now they’re back and you can’t ignore them anymore, but really, it’s just an excuse.’

He gave her a look that stared right into her soul and made sure that even with the sunglasses, she’d know it. She squirmed almost imperceptibly, but it was there nonetheless. Her wings betrayed her discomfort.

She searched him back, almost like she was seeing him for the first time. ‘You care more about Aziraphale than about—’

‘Yes,’ Crowley said before she even finished the sentence. ‘He’s an insufferable soft bastard, but he’s my insufferable soft bastard. My best friend. If something happened to him—if something _happens_ to him, all of Heaven and Hell won’t be able to stop me.’

‘Nothing will happen to him, not by Heaven’s hand. I promised him that and I promise you as well.’

‘Good,’ Crowley said emphatically. He threw a leg over the other and clicked his tongue. ‘I wonder, d’you still remember when you had friends instead of just subordinates?’

She didn’t deign to answer that. It spoke for itself.

‘And that’s the biggest difference—besides my entire charming personality—between you and me, Michael. I’d rather have friends in low places than be above everyone and have none.’

Not that he had many friends among demons. Hell wasn’t an environment for growing friendships, only temporary alliances, acknowledgement of shared misery, and lots of mould. And now he had followers there. But that wasn’t the important bit. That was _Aziraphale_.

‘I’m trying,’ she said, bordering on defiant. ‘This has actually been very difficult for me, you know. “Hard times”—’ she actually made air quotes— ‘and suffering aren’t a prerogative of the Fallen. _We_ had to leave them behind and get used to their absence and our friends being our enemies all of a sudden, most importantly you and Lucifer, our _siblings_ , our fellow Archangels. So of course we tried to _forget_. But as you said, the memories are back, and we can’t ignore them anymore. At least I haven’t come here to kill you and forget again. I meant what I said about regret and second chances. It hurts.’ She tapped a finger above her heart. ‘Here, it _hurts_.’

Playing the victim. Of course. Angels always did, instead of owning up to what they’d done. Demons had owned up to their rebellion like flies took to rotten things. To flies and rotten things too, come to think of it. And the dark aesthetic.

He could argue with her about it. He wanted to argue with her. He focused on a different part of her little monologue though. ‘I think you’ve just realised something you didn’t even know you knew,’ he pointed out. ‘And confirmed Amen’s theory. I might’ve sown the seeds, but oh did you water them and let them grow. Well done!’

He slowly clapped his hands. They practically glowed with sarcasm.

‘We wanted to forget ourselves,’ Michael repeated, uncertain about the discovery.

‘There ya go. It’s fun, figuring things out, isn’t it? Makes your brain go all _boom_.’ He stopped clapping and imitated an explosion instead.

His might’ve just.

Well, he’d wanted some answers and got some. Mission accomplished or something. Barring the bit where he wanted to avoid more Archangels.

She cleared her throat. ‘If you change your mind—’

‘I won’t,’ Crowley snapped.

‘ _If_ you change your mind, you’re welcome back. You could—you could help us bring Heaven back to what it used to be. To what you wanted it to be.’

He let out another throaty noise. The consonants were, somehow, different ones. ‘Ffh—I’ve just—I’ve just helped set up a bloody parliament in Hell, I’m not doing any of the higher-ups’ charity work anymore. Why does everyone always want me to _fix things_?!’ He threw his arms forward, frustrated. ‘I’m actually incompetent as shit; I procrastinate too much and have dumb ideas. Honestly.’

Well. His original Function _was_ to fix things. The word for _heal_ and _fix_ was the same in Enochian.

It was also creativity, which was why he had so many dumb ideas. Or weird ideas. Or ideas that didn’t even make sense but Hell, and humans, seemed to like them anyway. Fixing things well and fixing them creatively were often contradictory, as it happened. Should’ve given him logic if they wanted a competent angel[3].

Maybe he wouldn’t have had so many questions and had answers instead. Like Mr Spock. But then again, he wouldn’t have ended up where he was that way either—and while a fun character, Mr Spock was a pretty boring person to be around, he imagined, and being boring was his worst nightmare.

‘You know,’ Michael said with one of those overly polite smiles, ‘you didn’t ask for it, and you refuse to return and resume your duties alongside us. What is the point in you being an angel, then?’

Crowley jumped to his feet and made a 360-turn turn on his heel. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out for the past week!’ he shouted. ‘But it’s my own business what I do or don’t do with that, not _yours_.’

She scoffed and rose up as well. ‘It would’ve been easier for everyone if you had stayed a demon and didn’t bring discord back to Heaven.’

‘Ohh, so it’s _discord_ , then? Great. And of course it’s my fault. You can never be anything short of perfect, eh, even if you spent millennia burying pain and evidence of the contrary. And now you think you can make peace and fix everything, just like that.’ He clicked his fingers and rolled his shoulders. The next words were all but a whisper. ‘Get out.’

Michael didn’t get out. She released her barn owl wings. Soft and adorable on the outside but deadly on the inside, barn owls were. They had claws and weren’t afraid to use them. Or the wings, which were so large they knocked over Linda’s armchair and a lamp and hit the wall with a thud. Well, Crowley wasn’t going to be intimidated by her. He pulled at the pocket dimension where he kept his and brought them forth. His disused primary wings were just as large.

Meaning he also hit the wall. Cramped spaces were the worst.

‘You were right about one thing,’ she said coldly. ‘You’re incompetent. You spend too much time in the stars and fraternise with your subordinates. You’re too carefree and chaotic and cowardly and have too many opinions. You fear failure and not being good enough, and that was what has doomed you to Fall, that and your questions. But even despite that, everyone has always loved you and admired you and handed everything to you on a plate. Even now, Crowley, you’re all anyone talks about—and they haven’t even heard the _wonderful news_ yet. Many angels still worship you Upstairs. And even—’ She chuckled darkly. A sword that hasn’t been there a second ago pointed at his chest. ‘Even us, even _I_ became so blinded by the memories of you, enough to _change things_ because that’s what precious Raphael would have wanted. Always the _favourite_. But clearly—’ She stepped closer. ‘You don’t. You’ve Fallen, because you _are_ a failure. Your biggest fear came true, and all you can do is keep running.’

Teeth gritted, Crowley summoned his staff. He pointed it at her, the tip almost touching her sword. There she was. She may be asking him to come back, but underneath that false sweetness and practised calm was a storm. It always ended like this.

There were so many points to focus on, but he said, dryly, ‘I was never the favourite, Michael. Amen had a necklace to prove it, or so I’ve heard. But you’re still jealous of me. Interesting.’

Speaking of—where _was_ Amenadiel? He could use him about now.

‘Please. He only got that because you and Lucifer weren’t there,’ she countered. ‘And I have no reason to be jealous of you.’

‘Maybe not. But you say you have regrets, and here we are. Maybe _you’re_ the coward, Michael. The moment shit gets real, you revert to your primal nature. Isn’t this how it had gone down the first time around?’

She stood still for a breathless moment, and then her sword clashed against the gold of his staff. He caught it thanks to his Hell-trained reflexes.

‘Don’t make me fight you,’ he hissed through his teeth.

Michael tried for a quick blow to his right side, but he deflected that too, and then the strike that went for his leg. ‘You didn’t before,’ she said, going for his right wing. It crashed against the ceiling as it avoided getting a few feathers slashed.

‘I don’t fight with _weapons_ ,’ he snarled. ‘Didn’t stop you before.’

‘Stop it! Both of you!’ called a new voice, very disapprovingly. Amenadiel stood at the base of the staircase, hands balled into fists and brow knit.

Michael turned to him, face rigid. She didn’t drop the sword—no, her attention was back on Crowley sooner than you could say _serpent_ , and she charged at him with even more determination and righteous fury.

Crowley dodged her by jumping backwards over the sofa and hit a cabinet in doing so. The objects inside it clattered, and some even fell over—if not on the ground because they were behind glass. A barely conscious miracle fixed the shelves right up.

A barely conscious Crowley, so it seemed, folded his wings out of sight and remained rooted to the spot. ‘Go on then, maybe you didn’t come here to kill me, and you _can’t_ kill me, but discorporate me if it’s going to make your soldier heart feel better. It’s not like it’s going to get any worse than you casting me out of—’

Michael charged at him once more, but Amenadiel leapt behind her and grasped her arm.

And Crowley had a Thought. ‘Now, wait, hang on.’ He held up a finger. Then his lips stretched in a manic smile and his entire body rolled in self-satisfaction. ‘Haha! But oh, that’s what you _want_. Oh, Michael, still manipulative as ever! You say all those _words_ , but you still want me to go back Upstairs, because that’s what would happen if I got discorporated. Well done, coming up with a Plan B that quick.’

He put the staff back in its pocket dimension and looked at Amenadiel’s comically wide eyes and Michael’s furious pout. ‘Not this time, sister. I’m done. I’m just—done.’

He snapped his fingers and teleported away.

He took his mobile, added ‘never ever get discorporated again’ to his to-do list, pocketed it again, and started walking. He didn’t even recognise the place, just somewhere a few streets over, but he didn’t care. He just needed to get out of there.

Right.

That was a thing.

* * *

1 Linda and Amenadiel and Charlie were her family though. She was her best friend, and the kid needed protecting. She wouldn’t change it for anything, even if the occasional angel and their bullshit showed up and ruined her mood. Sometimes they improved it, when they had a fighty attitude. She enjoyed fighting angels.[✿]

2 He slept under it. It was a little too colourful for his liking, but this wasn’t his house, so he wasn’t going to complain. Just grumble a bit and use it anyway. It reminded him of Aziraphale, because it was his style, all yellows and oranges and browns and beiges.[✿]

3 That was why he liked Hamaliel. They were his second in command, and his friend, _and_ had logic. They used to thwart his dumb ideas before he could go through with them and give him logical insight into things and make him fix things well. They were like the opposite of Aziraphale, who had different but equally dumb ideas sometimes and definitely did _not_ thwart anything.[✿]


	58. Too Many Emotions

‘Michael, what _was_ that?’ Amenadiel demanded. She couldn’t see his face, but his aura betrayed its indignant frown anyway. ‘Why the hell did you attack him? In _my_ house? There’s a _child_ living here—not to mention everything you said about change and doing better!’

Michael tore her arm out of his grip and sheathed her sword in its metaphysical scabbard, together with her wings. She took a deep, somewhat shaky breath and smoothed her blouse. Gold and glittering like the mark on Crowley’s cheek, which she caught a glimpse of earlier and which she thought she’d never see again.

She dropped onto the sofa and hid her face in her hands. She could feel his gaze piercing her back, waiting for an explanation. ‘I didn’t mean to,’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t mean it, the rage, it just bubbled up. And then I thought—Raphael. He’s _Risen_ , Amen. He’s—’

‘Crowley,’ he corrected her. Right. Not Raphael anymore. ‘He’s Risen, yes, but that doesn’t give you any right to force him back. You know that. What’s gotten into you?’

She clutched at the edge of the sofa and forced herself to look up. She cleared her throat. ‘How much have you heard?’

‘Enough.’

‘Well. He provoked me. He didn’t want to listen, and then he said something—’

Amenadiel sat down and crossed his arms. He was having none of it. ‘What exactly did you say, Michael?’

‘A shitty, half-assed apology,’ called Mazikeen, whom Michael found lurking in the corner. ‘And she still tried to turn the blame on him and called him a failure and like half a dozen ugly names. I’m not saying he isn’t—he _definitely_ failed at being a demon—but it wasn’t cool. Fun, but not cool.’

She’s been eavesdropping the whole time. Of course she has. She was a demon, and lurking was, besides torture, what they were best at.

She was a demon, and Crowley wasn’t anymore.

She shouldn’t have lashed out. But seeing him—all the memories came flooding in, and it didn’t help; it only made the ache inside of her grow stronger. And then she found that he has Risen anyway and all of that gnawing, rekindled guilt was for nothing. She’d cast him out, and he got back up. He’d lived with it, and she hadn’t, but a part of her still felt that it was unfair. The rest of her was ecstatic, but that part was mad and in pain, and it won.

He’d lived with it and healed. She used to keep her emotions squashed deep inside and firmly under control, but they were all stubbornly manifesting themselves now, and she didn’t know where else to channel them but into her blade. That was her basic reaction: fighting.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was the broken one, and she didn’t know _how_ to heal, because all she wanted to do was bury those emotions again and focus on her work. Doing something meaningful that kept her busy and didn’t let her mind wander and ask all the questions. But they were past that now, weren’t they? As she’d said. He was all anyone talked about in Heaven. Her especially.

Because ignoring feelings was what had got them here in the first place.

She called Gabriel a hypocrite, and here she was, no different.

‘This isn’t how you move on,’ Amenadiel said. ‘I had faith in you, but perhaps I was wrong.’

‘I didn’t mean it,’ she repeated.

‘Oh but I think you did,’ he countered. ‘You might be starting to see things differently and look for answers by yourself, but you’re still angry with him and blame him, deep inside. _And_ Lucifer. And, yes, maybe the rebellion _was_ on Luci and the Fall was partially them punishing themselves, but the blame lies with us just as much.’

She knew. That war memory was fairly clear on the subject, as were his words. _The only thing I’m denying you is the pleasure of seeing me grovel at your feet and beg for mercy. I won’t repeat my past mistakes._

She meant it when she said she wished she’d listened to him.

‘I know. I _know_ , Amen.’ She glanced at the snake toy lying next to him. She scoffed. ‘And it would’ve been now too, although the circumstances were rather—opposite.’

‘That was stupid,’ he pointed out. ‘You should have _told him that_. Fighting is not the way here. If anything, I’d think you were punishing _yourself_ , going down that same path again. And I must warn you, sister. It’s a slippery slope towards Falling there.’

A shiver ran down her spine. Her eyes snapped up and locked with his. ‘I don’t want to Fall. I do everything for Heaven, surely you must know.’

‘I do,’ he said, not unkindly, ‘but do you?’

‘Crowley told you,’ Mazikeen jumped in again. She made a circular gesture around her chest. ‘It’s all internal, Mikey. If you’re not careful about your own feelings…’ She mimicked the movement of something, or someone, falling off a cliff.

Michael bristled at that nickname. And at the idea of her—of her _Falling_. That wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t _Fall_.

But Amenadiel had.

‘I was wrong,’ she said. Her hands gripped the sofa cushion more tightly. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to trick Crowley into coming back, even if he should be there with us, helping us right all the wrongs that, despite everything, occurred. If he wishes to remain here with Aziraphale, then so shall it be.’

‘Good,’ Amenadiel said. He uncrossed his arms and laid his palms on his thighs. ‘Because that’s his choice, not ours. He has no obligation to help us after what we’d done to him _and_ to Aziraphale. It’s a miracle he’s talking to any of us at all.’

‘He still tried to be kind and didn’t do anything but defend himself,’ she remarked, looking back to everything else he’d said[1]. Even in the War, he’d refused to fight. He’d helped the wounded and defended himself. If R—if _Crowley_ actively tried to attack someone and unleashed his full power, Lord only knew what might happen. She hoped she would never find herself in a situation that would warrant finding out. ‘But I pushed him and let my anger get the best of me. I saw him for the first time since—really saw him—since the War, and it was hard on me. But that’s not an excuse. I could have—worded my thoughts better.’

‘You should also probably address the Aziraphale thing,’ Mazikeen noted.

Michael narrowed her eyes. ‘This isn’t any business of yours.’

‘I’m best friends with a therapist and like poking angels, so sucks for you,’ she grinned, false-sweet. ‘Besides, I like the serpent. He’s weird, but he’s fun and hot and good with kids, and you hurt him.’

‘She’s right,’ Amenadiel said. ‘If you truly have good intentions and want forgiveness, you can’t force him. Give him time and a reason to trust you first and foremost, because you did _more_ than just hurt him. We spent hours and hours talking about it yesterday, and we’ve already been on a good path. And you must realise that it’s okay to be vulnerable and feel things.’ He tapped at his chest, where his corporation’s heart was. ‘You must let go of that—manipulative, self-serving part of you. And if you don’t…’ He pointed the finger at her. ‘Well, you know what might happen. Plus you’ll have me to deal with and a _lot_ to answer for.’

‘I’m trying,’ she said. Amenadiel gave her an unconvinced look, and she corrected herself. ‘I want to try. But all these feelings, I’m not—accustomed to feeling so many of them.’

‘And you say you’re better than us.’ The demon rolled her eyes. ‘Trust me, you’re the same assholes, only _you_ are righteous assholes who still can’t leave their mom’s house and go explore the world on their own.’

Michael wished for her sword back. Mazikeen was really starting to irritate her, and the storm inside her itched to be released. They all felt those impulses sometimes. They all had something to let off steam, too—Gabriel had jogging, Azrael had arcade games[2], and Uriel and she had sparring.

But she had, pitifully enough, a point. The low-ranking angels may have mentioned something similar, minus the expletives: that there really wasn’t that much of a difference between the two sides. They were, essentially, cut from the same cloth. The fundamental difference was in the state of mind. Apparently.

Michael didn’t waver. She had to handle the situation here better. Michael didn’t typically swear, but it was called for this time. She’s fucked up, hasn’t she? Aziraphale had warned her, and she disregarded it, and look how that turned out.

‘We’re starting to though, right, Michael?’ Amenadiel said. His warm hand touched her shoulder. ‘Don’t let this altercation deter you. What you’re doing in Heaven is good. It’s right.’

He probably hasn’t heard her throw all the reasons why she tried to change their cold ways in Crowley’s face as if they were insults, then. It was anger speaking, but there still was, undeniably, some truth to it. It was a culmination of all her innate feelings, which weren’t nearly as optimistic and altruistic as the words she preached in Heaven.

But she still thought that she was doing the right thing. He changed nothing. He wanted to have nothing to do with it; alright then, it wasn’t for him or because of him. It was because it was _time_ , and because the lower angels might deserve a voice sometimes.

He was right about one thing for certain. She didn’t remember what having true friends was like. If nothing, she could—she could fix at least that. Talking to someone outside of business meetings was pleasantly refreshing, when you weren’t arguing.

‘I’m sorry, Amenadiel,’ she said, ‘for what happened here today. You’re right. I have… things to think about. I shall leave now—but if you see Crowley again, give him my sincere apologies. He isn’t at fault for the memories or anything that’s happening.’

‘He might be, actually,’ said Amenadiel. After everything, that almost caught her off guard. ‘But punishment _and_ blessing, right, Michael?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He told me something yesterday,’ he confessed. He withdrew his hand. ‘But I believe that’s between me, him, and Linda. Who should be back any minute, so you’d better go—unless you want to talk to an actual qualified person? Which, I believe, could help.’

She flexed her fingers and ran her hands down her trousers. A half-sneer formed on her face. ‘What does a human know?’

‘Yeah, get out,’ Mazikeen barked, drawing one of her blades. It glinted threateningly in the sunlight.

Michael thought the overturned furniture and dishevelled decorations on the wall into returning to their previous positions and erased any signs of a disturbance with a quick miracle. With one last pointed look at the demon and a softer one at Amenadiel, she returned straight to her quarters in the City.

She flung herself onto a different sofa. But her fingers, her wings, every fibre of her body itched to fight, to hit _something_ , to spar with someone and let that anger and frustration get out. That—wasn’t how she’d imagined today to go. And maybe she _was_ punishing herself, because that memory of the War was relentless, and she’s tried to _reignite it_ , which hasn’t helped in the least.

She stood up, changed into more activity-appropriate clothes with a wave of her hand, and flew out of the building. Someone would surely be happy to take her up on an offer of a bit of friendly combat practice.

* * *

1 If celestials had excellent long-term memory, their short-term memory was _perfect_. Anything that happened within the past month was so fresh on their minds that it was almost like replaying a video. Each word of a conversation, each point of a meeting, each Holy Water Espresso—complete with Holy Cow Milk—drank between meetings.[✿]

2 Or rather cheating at any and all arcade games that had to do with luck or knowledge, because they knew everything. They always had the highest score. It reflected life—but these high scores were something to be excited about, something to make one forget their job and the endings of lives, at all of which they were present.[✿]


	59. Wandering Feet, Wandering Mind

Crowley continued to walk aimlessly for another half-hour, around fancy villas that were twice as large as Linda and Amenadiel’s house and belonged to people with twice as much money, various little shops, and a farmer’s market that sold fruit that, unlike the sour mangoes you could usually buy in London, actually looked ripe. He still didn’t know where he was, but he didn’t much care.

Seriously. He could open Google Maps and check. But he couldn’t be arsed, because he could just teleport back whenever he wanted. Or even back home. He didn’t know if he had anything left to say or do at Amenadiel’s, besides going drinking with Maze again.

Maybe he could do the ladies a favour and introduce Book Girl, who did indeed live nearby—he’d checked and found her, boyfriend-less, back in Malibu—to them. She seemed like someone who might need some friends or drinking companions, and being a celestial insider was an added bonus.

He didn’t care that he cared either, and wasn’t that a development.

He stopped at a pedestrian crossing and leant against the pole as he waited for the green light[1]. At this point, Aziraphale has heard what happened. Not by conscious decision—Crowley simply couldn’t stop replaying that interaction in his mind, and it _transmitted_. Didn’t matter. Aziraphale was that bit of equally indignant and calming familiarity he needed to keep him grounded, and talking to him helped.

And mostly the walking.

But God, he knew why he’d wanted to avoid Michael. He could only see that much concentrated stubbornness and emotional constipation in—well, the other Archangels, because they had that in common, but boy, it was tiring. One part of him still _was_ proud of her for trying to act and do something, but then she went and tried to trick him into returning and used her usually hidden ability to sense one’s fears against him. She was no better than _Lucifer_. Lucifer at least asked for consent and took it seriously. She couldn’t handle him calling her out on her bullshit and control her emotions, because she, just like the rest of the wankers Upstairs, was used to not feeling them. And that was just what she didn’t want to hear even if she needed it—she had to let go or she’d never heal and be able to do better.

And then there was the fact that she and Gabriel and Uriel have treated Aziraphale horribly and didn’t even _properly_ apologise for trying to kill him with Hellfire without a bloody trial. Michael had volunteered to go to Hell just so she wouldn’t have to watch. Crowley wasn’t going to forgive her for that, even if Aziraphale let it go and said it was fine.

Sometimes, he really was too nice for his own good. He did do it to get rid of her and in fact thought differently, but still.

 _You’re right, my dear, I must admit I wanted her to get out of my feathers,_ Aziraphale replied. The traffic light finally switched to green. _And don’t think that I’m not upset about the execution. But I do think there is no point in dwelling on what is past, and the same applies to you._

 _My situation’s different,_ he said bitterly. _And it’s a **lot** more complicated than that. I mean, you know Michael, you know what she’s like, but you don’t know what she’d **been** like. You don’t have the same history. Look—if she wants to talk, fine, I’d be glad to get over that and live on, you know, find some common ground, but she has to do some blessed heavy lifting first. Can’t move on without that. Like I said, I won’t make shit easy for her._

Having crossed the street, he and a bunch of other people continued walking up the avenue. He pushed his hands into his pockets and said, with just a hint of a grin, _And it’s funny that you of all people say that there’s no point in dwelling on the past, angel. Looked at your clothes lately? And your books? How old **is** that coat of yours? I definitely saw you wearing it in the 1860s, yeah, it was the Holy Water Incident…_

 _Oh, silence, you. These clothes are perfectly comfortable, and there’s no need to change them,_ said Aziraphale, petulantly and endearingly defensive as usual.

_Tell that to the humans. Didn’t someone ask if you were filming a period drama just the other day_ [2] _?_

_Well, I’m not you. I cannot change myself to fit the constant, pressuring progress of the society every few years like you do. Just as I become accustomed to one thing, it’s suddenly replaced by something newer, and it’s tiring, trying to keep up. We’ve been through this; I know what you’re doing here, Crowley._

_Yeah, well, you’re in my mind. Figures you would,_ Crowley said. _And please don’t ever change. I don’t think the world could handle you in modern designer clothes. It would decide to end after all._

Well, it happened every now and then. It’s just that it hasn’t happened for almost two whole centuries now, which was, as far as he knew, the longest Aziraphale has gone without a wardrobe update. It probably had to do with staying in one place and suits never going out of fashion, just changing slightly.

 _Although I suppose the waistcoat **has** seen its better days, _Aziraphale admitted, in that tone that implied a scrunched nose and a resigned sigh. _The front is awfully shabby. And I discovered that the sleeves of my coat are somewhat. Abraded. I fixed it, of course, but I’ll always know it was there…_

Crowley plastered his hand on his heart and dropped his jaw in mock-astonishment. _What? Are you admitting that your clothes are old and need replacing? If we weren’t literally bonded, I’d ask who you were and what you’ve done with Aziraphale._

_Don’t be silly, not all my clothes. My summer shirts are from the 1970s. They’re in a perfectly good condition._

_Yeah, and that was forty-five years ago_. Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale would know that he did. _Listen, this is LA. I’ve walked by like, forty clothes shops, and I’m not even hitting the good ones. I could. I dunno. Get you something. The Devil may wear Prada, but who says angels can’t too, eh? Or Burberry. They’ve got lots of beige. Because the more I think about it, the more shopping seems like a good coping mechanism. And I’ve got **money** , babey!_

_Oh, I don’t know. Your style is very different from mine—_

_And we share a telepathic link. I think that’s brilliant_ , he grinned. _Have I ever told you how brilliant that is? I can always carry a piece of you in me, even if the doors between our minds are shut. It’s calming. Makes me feel—_ He sighed, the grin fading away into seriousness. _Like all this angelic stuff inside me is coming from you, and it’s not such a shock, such a jarring dichotomy between demon and angel._

 _I understand,_ said Aziraphale. _And I understand that you can’t always keep the doors open. It’s alright_.

Before they lived together, Crowley could always run off to his flat and sulk for a week and then see Aziraphale again when he wasn’t a total disaster of a demon. He’d given that up when he bought that cottage and exchanged it for a garden shed and long drives. But when they got bonded, even that was gone. A bond meant completely giving yourself over to the other person[3] and trusting them unconditionally. He did—if there was anyone, it was Aziraphale—but there were still moments he needed to be alone.

 _Thanks_ , he said.

_Speaking of demonic energy, can’t you feel something? I can sense this oddly specific taste in my mouth all of a sudden._

Crowley was so absorbed in his mind that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings or even himself, but the hairs on his arms were standing on end. One sniff betrayed the whiff of sulphur and disappointment in the air. Demons. They must have found him.

He looked around himself, and suddenly the small crowd of passers-by turned their glamoured faces to him, and he knew he was screwed. _Gotta go_ , he quickly told Aziraphale. Then someone grabbed his shoulder and someone else pressed a blade dangerously close to his throat, and they were dragging him to a small and inconveniently empty car park between two buildings.

His eyes flitted over their faces. He recognised a few members of that so-called cult of his. ‘Hey, guys,’ he croaked. ‘What—what can I do for you?’

‘Master Crowley,’ said the one with the blade. A Fallen; Caim, Crowley’s brain supplied shortly. He was a new member of the Lords. Odd. ‘We need you to come back with us.’

 _Fuck, not that again_ , he thought. Also, this was an odd kind of worship, but then, they _were_ demons. They weren’t known for their healthy and sane behaviour.

Another demon, whose name might have been Orus, sniffed at the air around him suspiciously. That would be the angel stink. But they said, ‘You have the same aura as the King. You are worthy.’

And, what? Was there some kind of Mjolnir situation going on? He might be Thor’s brother in this context[4], but that didn’t mean he wanted that damn hammer. Or the Throne of Hell. They’ve _been through that_.

The two demons holding him let go of him, and they all collectively dropped to their knees. He counted eleven of them. He was also getting more uncomfortable by the second.

‘Get up, you know I hate kneeling,’ he said. They scrambled up. ‘Now, what precisely is it that you want? Because I’ll make one thing very clear—I do _not_ want the Throne, that was once, that’s done with, I said as much. And I said that you should respect my wish that Lucifer stays King.’

‘We do,’ said another demon, a Lilim this time, nodding vehemently.

‘But Master Crowley,’ began Lelaliah, a former Virtue. ‘Your leadership was praised by all before the War. We had pledged loyalty to you, and you can lead us again, into a glorious new Hell, as a true Prince of Hell and our representative! The head of a new faction that would have to be respected by Lucifer and everyone else!’

‘You must come back! It’s where you belong, with us!’ Orus chanted. ‘You’ve made the stars once, and now you can make Hell great again!’

‘No,’ Crowley spat. ‘No, I’m done with Hell. I’m done with being anyone’s leader. I’m done with everything. I owe you nothing; you Fell with Lucifer, not with me. I’m not that person anymore.’

‘Well, I don’t think you have a choice,’ said someone behind him—Duke Agares of all demons. He was something of a bounty hunter Down There, bringing back runaways. And outranked him. And also happened to have been a Virtue, one who fought his way to the top. He pulled out a rope and threw it around Crowley’s torso, binding his arms to his body. It stung where it touched his bare arms, like touching a slightly blessed object would have before.

The blade was back and just as sharp and threatening as Maze’s. This one wasn’t made with Lucifer’s feathers though. Still, it could probably discorporate him, which would, ironically fucking enough, mean a win for Michael, not them.

‘Hey, hey, hey, let’s talk about this—’

‘What’s there to talk about?’ Caim said. He invaded Crowley’s personal space even further. He smelt terrible, like a bird demon who took a bath in a burst-pipe puddle on the ground[5]. ‘We need you.’

‘Don’t use that on me,’ he croaked. ‘You wouldn’t like what happens.’

Three demons already started dragging him off and towards the back of the shop on their left. He strained against the rope, now tied behind his back, but it didn’t give way. Tightness gripped at his lungs, and his heart quickened its pace. He gritted his teeth, breathing hard. The last time this happened, he’d been dragged off to Aziraphale’s execution—

‘I don’t belong in Hell,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Not anymore.’

He pulled at the warmth in his stomach, the power and energy lying dormant but desperately wanting to get out. Smoke rose from the rope, and the demons took an instinctive step backwards. Then another. He looked down on his body and saw that he was _glowing_.

The rope tore and fell away, and with a crack of his neck, he called for his wings and his staff. It crackled with static electricity when he closed his fingers around it.

‘I’m not who you think you are. Take your misplaced loyalty somewhere else. I’m done with that; you can’t have me. And if someone asks how you got discorporated, do yourselves a favour and keep schtum. You don’t want to embarrass yourselves, do you? And if _Lucifer_ asks, tell him to remind everyone that I’m. Off. Limits.’

Demon Number Eight pointed at his head and stammered, ‘That’s a h—h—h—’

‘Are we clear?!’ Crowley snarled. He didn’t wait for an answer and dropped the staff against the ground. It released an invisible surge of power that knocked the demons out cold and, adding to the intensifying energy bursting from him, left nothing but smoke behind.

The glow slowly died down, but his breathing hasn’t calmed. He’s just smitten that bunch of demons. The only demons in Hell who liked him enough for who he was and thought his ideas were genius. But they tried to drag him back, and he’s had enough of that today.

Making sure no humans noticed this incident, he put his staff away. He grasped at his hair. Fuck. Fuck, he hadn't anticipated that. Or the panic attack.

‘Okay,’ he said to the empty space. He turned on his heel, still holding his hair back as if tied. ‘Okay. It’s fine. It probably showed on the celestial radar, but it’s fine. Amenadiel could’ve done that. And they won’t tell.’

Right?

Fuck, he probably had to talk to Lucifer and Tell Him About It. It will be in the paperwork. Cause of discorporation: smitten by angel. He could think it _was_ Amenadiel, but he might ask the demons about it, and they might tell him. Or the rest of the Cult. Nope, he couldn’t have that. He couldn’t have it spreading to Heaven. He had to tell Lucifer to tell them to say it wasn’t him.

Just not right now.

He started walking again and crossed the street. He turned to the left to walk back where he came from, hands crammed into his tiny pockets once more. This time, it was to keep them from shaking. He looked around himself. Wasn’t he talking about clothes shops?

There was one on the opposite side of the street. On his side, there was a jewellery shop[6]. This wasn’t the part of town where you could find the more expensive, fancy stuff though. He really would need to open Maps and see where he was and where he could find some, and sooner than he finished that thought, his mobile was already in his hand.

Then he did a doubletake and turned back to the jeweller’s.

He’s been thinking about it for a while now. Properly, officially, humanly showing where and with whom he belonged. Wedding bands. They’d have those, right? He also needed to get over the demon thing and calm down. Shopping could do that. And thinking of Aziraphale.

He made up his mind and walked inside.

* * *

1 He wasn’t going to risk jaywalking across a busy junction of two avenues. The rules were different when _he_ was a pedestrian too. Or rather, when he walked on foot, he actually _obeyed them_ most of the time. Even as a demon. This wasn’t new or had anything to do with being an angel.[✿]

2 It was three months ago, but they were immortal. That still fitted the definition of ‘the other day’.[✿]

3 Or persons. It was possible for three or more beings to be bonded together, too. One might imagine it was slightly more chaotic though, a group chat instead of a phone call and varying, confusing emotions always mixing together. It took stable and truly synchronised angels. Crowley has performed such a ritual precisely once, between three of his Virtues, and didn’t even know anyone besides that trio who has done it. But then again, that had been two and a half million years ago.[✿]

4 In which Thor was either Lucifer, because he was the King, or Gabriel, because he was the angel of lightning. In that case, Lucifer would probably be the movie version of Hela. Crowley was, naturally, Loki, a mischievous serpent who dressed in black and had a very loose relationship with gender. It fitted. And yes, Ragnarok was Crowley’s favourite Marvel film. He has watched them all, mostly to complain about the inaccuracies and American cinema.[✿]

5 Involuntarily, mind.[✿]

6 Or a jewelry store, because this was America.[✿]


	60. Discorporation Paperwork

Well, this was certainly unusual.

The only kind of discorporation paperwork that ever landed straight on Lucifer’s desk were the smitten-by-angel files, and the whole deal with those was that they usually _didn’t_ , because it didn’t really happen anymore. The first and also last time in recent history was the foiled kidnapping of one Charlie Martin, Nephil and nephew.

And yet there were _eleven_ slightly charred files waiting for his appraisal and subsequent stamping lying on his cold and already too-full desk. Eleven, and it all happened at the same time, in LA of all places. Right now, when the tension between Heaven and Hell was alleviated and sending operatives to despatch the other sides’ was put on hold.

The thing was, there was only one angel in LA as far as he knew, and that was Amenadiel. But with him was staying Crowley, whom that bunch of demons had insisted on bothering, and they must have found him there. Lucifer sighed. They very much deserved discorporation and more, but for Heaven’s sake, what has his brother got himself into now?

Either of them, really.

He wasn’t going to conduct a formal investigation, and he certainly wasn’t going to run it by anyone Upstairs. No, frankly, he was torn between letting the demons simmer and putting the files into his drawer for a few months, and approving them immediately to try and sweep this under the threadbare, moth-eaten carpet.

The last thing his new government needed was word of angels attacking again, because no one _cared_ if it was self-defence or not here. The fight-hungry demons looked for any excuse to wage a war. And if he went against them, well. They might just attack him too, because things were hardly stable yet. But even with quickly restored corporations, there was no guarantee of silence, particularly if Crowley, whom they worshipped, had something to do with this very rude way of hellward expulsion.

Bottom line was, he didn’t like this at all. And he’s been in _such_ a tolerable mood since Chloe’s call yesterday.

He scoffed and closed the top folder with a vigour worthy of slamming a door. It lacked the same effect though, because even Hell’s grimy paper was still paper and thus light and noiseless. He shook his head and dropped his forehead into his hand. He was getting tired of this. The bags under his eyes would probably agree[1].

As would the fact that he might have fallen asleep for a bit there, because when his phone vibrated in his jacket’s inner pocket, his drooping head suddenly jerked upwards. Blinking his eyes open, he extracted it from the pocket, squinted at the caller ID, and accepted with a surprised, ‘Crowley?’

‘Hi again,’ said his brother. Once again, Lucifer could hear traffic noises in the background. ‘This must be the most we’ve talked since before the War. It’s weird.’

It was. Crowley wasn’t avoiding him like the plague anymore, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He supposed he was—glad. He and Rae-Rae, and Amenadiel too lately, were the least awful of his siblings. It made him feel a bit better, knowing that he found allies in them again.

‘What is it?’ he asked. Then, ‘Is Chloe there?’

‘Nope. Just me calling,’ he said, not helping to improve his mood at all. ‘Michael was here.’

Hang on. Could Michael have done the smiting? It was certainly her style, and she and the demons showing up on the same day wouldn’t be the least improbable thing to happen.

‘We kinda…’ Crowley continued, hesitating. Gusts of wind and an aeroplane added to the cacophony of Big City Background Sounds. ‘Fought. Anyway. I ran and spent the rest of the day stress-shopping and then I made one of the stupidest decisions yet and went to LUX because I actually happened to be nearby, and now I’m standing outside. Wanted to tell you that. Bet you’re very smug about it right now.’

He was. And he was wrong; his mood was definitely improved. The lightbulb in his office shone a little warmer. ‘Oh, finally! I thought Hell would have to freeze over first[2]. Which reminds me, drinks are on me.’

‘Thanks. Though Amen’s running it, so—’

‘You need not remind me,’ he said a touch more sourly. ‘Alright, what’s the bad news?’

‘Why—why would there be bad news?’ Crowley stammered. ‘Can’t I just call, just because?’

‘No, Crowley, you can’t. Believe it or not, I do know you,’ replied Lucifer. His gaze dropped to the closed but very much unchanged folders on his desk. ‘And I’ve just got a bunch of discorporation paperwork.’

‘Yeah. That.’ Crowley cleared his throat. It _was_ about that, then. Good. He might even get some answers! Lucifer was good at detectiving, so he could figure it out for himself eventually, but the quicker the better. Crowley might give him an idea of what to do with the demons.

‘So I wanted you to hear this from me, rather than—from them. And. Fffh. Ask you a favour, I suppose.’

Lucifer was intrigued. ‘Go on,’ he said, reclining in his chair. It wasn’t a comfortable piece of padded office furniture; it was made of ancient wood and stood on four legs, so he had to move the whole thing and lean back in it like a fidgety schoolchild.

‘It was me. The smiting, it was me. Cosmnangelagain.’

Lucifer lurched forwards with a dull thud on the chair’s part. He blinked. ‘What was that?’

‘You heard me,’ Crowley said uncomfortably. ‘I’m an angel again. I er. Rose.’

Now that was new. And what a twist! Lucifer had told him about the possibility and tried to explain it to him more than once, maybe even hoped that he could move past all that trauma and achieve what he and Amenadiel have, but he hadn’t really come as far as to expect that it would _happen_ , not this soon.

‘Well done!’ he congratulated him. ‘Oh, that’s good news. I’m proud of you, Crowley. I really am. It _is_ good news, is it?’

‘Errrrrr,’ was the answer. ‘Unexpected. I’m getting used to it.’

‘At least you didn’t suddenly get your wings back and lose your Devil Face and thought it was a conspiracy,’ Lucifer chuckled. It there was a touch of bitterness behind it, he ignored it. ‘You just, what, got a gold tattoo and divine ecstasy? I envy you, honestly.’

‘Pretty much,’ he replied. He sucked in a breath. ‘And my eyes are no longer snaky. Anyway. I don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted you to know so I could tell you that under no circumstances do I want Heaven or Hell to know, besides those who already do, which is Aziraphale, Amen and co., Rae, Michael, and your kid. And the demons, who tried to attack me and drag me back to Hell, which is the whole reason why—yeah.’

Lucifer winced at the mention of him. His son, aka the Antichrist whose existence and life he knew next to nothing about. And he didn’t want to. It was better that way. But Crowley has, apparently, met him recently, and he didn’t know how to feel about that either.

‘You—’ His voice trembled. He cleared his throat and started over. ‘You met him?’

‘Yeah. He’s a good kid. Smart. Angelic. And he came to me, actually, the morning after it happened.’

He didn’t tell him more than that, but Lucifer suspected there was something else he wasn’t telling him. They were siblings. There was a kind of bond, a kind of feeling, and it was somewhat anxious right now. It could be attributed to the overall situation, but Lucifer knew better.

‘Well, that’s…’ he trailed off. That anxiety was creeping up his essence too. But he was the Devil. He wasn’t going to let this knowledge shake him and affect him in any way. He spent the past decade not being interested in the spawn, and he wasn’t going to start now[3]. ‘Well. I suppose you want me to tell the discorporated demons to keep their mouths shut about the incident then?’

‘I dunno, summon them and threaten them with something hellishly terrible if they speak but a word of what happened. Tell them to say it was Amenadiel or Michael if someone asks. You’ll think of something.’

‘That I will,’ he said, although it sounded like Crowley has been tied up in knots about this for a while and had it all figured out. That wasn’t a bad plan. ‘I’ll give you this one for free for helping me out earlier. You’re welcome. Although I _do_ want to hear more, perhaps when I get back?’

Crowley groaned. ‘Whatever. I’ve already been talking to Amen and Linda plenty. And Mazikeen. You’ve got—interesting friends.’

‘Why, thank you. As if I’d ever waste my time with someone boring.’

A police siren, distorted by the phone, wailed in the distance and reminded Lucifer of the Detective and the very same friends he currently couldn’t see because he was stuck in Hell but Crowley could, and did, see. Nope, he wasn’t jealous.

‘Suppose not,’ Crowley said. There was a pause. It sounded as if he was rubbing his head. ‘Hnk. Can I count on you then?’

‘You can count on me, Crowley, Devil’s honour. You’ve actually helped me with a few burning questions here, about these demons.’

‘Good. Yeah, ‘s good. Great. Thanks.’

Lucifer laughed, though a weight still lay heavy in his stomach. ‘Take care, brother. But don’t enjoy yourself too much; think of poor old Lucifer, stuck here while you get to party and drink the good stuff because he was so kind and let you go.’

‘Oh, yeah, because I don’t think about Hell often enough,’ he retorted. He was probably rolling his eyes. ‘Thanks again, but also sod off. Bye.’

He rang off. He may not be a demon anymore, but he still definitely had the manners of one. Lucifer tossed the phone onto a pile of files and took a deep breath of dusty air.

They were all angels now, all seven of them. Would you look at that. If someone had told freshly-Fallen Lucifer that they’d be there again, he’d have laughed them in the face and then ripped their spine out—but it happened nevertheless. The Fallen were angels again, the angels behaved more like Fallen sometimes, and four of them stuck around on Earth, five if you counted Gabriel and his secret little house. The fifth was bonded to a Fallen. The sixth was questioning, and the seventh was Dad-knew-where. They’d stood in the same room this year, and no one had been discorporated.

And he was still the King of Hell.

He picked the mobile up again and dialled the landline in Beelzebub’s office. He had Trouble in the form of eleven inconveniently knowledgeable demons to deal with, and then the Digital Reform Motion Meeting, and by the time it will have ended, something else will have happened, because Hell was Hell. Incidents were its daily routine.

It was almost like the LAPD, he thought briefly. And actually—the police and Hell were very similar institutions, weren’t they, all about paperwork, corruption, shooting first and asking questions later, and punishing guilty and non-guilty people alike[4] with little too much enthusiasm. Perhaps that was why he liked it there, besides the part with solving interesting murders and being with Chloe.

It was a horrifying thought. He _hated_ Hell.

He filed that realisation away for later. The Linda kind of later. Someone finally picked up the phone. That someone was Dagon, but that was inconsequential; he just needed those demons summoned and his misery to end already.

* * *

1 He didn’t need sleep, but Hell was extremely tiring, and he _felt_ tired. Of everything. And it might have shown on his body, too. Psychosomatically.[✿]

2 This almost happened a few times in certain parts of the city, those furthest from the river of fire. Hell was both a furnace and an iceberg, very unpredictably so—but the inhabited places were mostly cold and damp, and the radiators randomly broke sometimes, because of course they did. Before someone fixed them, demons had to use Hellfire to keep themselves warm, but before the torches and fireplaces were lit in the first place, certain rooms sometimes turned to the inside of a walk-in restaurant freezer.[✿]

3 Although… children weren’t so horrible, he’s found out in the meantime. They were sticky and loud and demanding, but they also asked a lot of questions and were unapologetic about their emotions and enthusiasm and weren’t so corrupted by the world like adults were. He’s learnt as much during the four years with Trixie Espinoza, who’s liked him and Maze since day one and who taught him to play Monopoly and painted his face with glitter and asked for money and cake in exchange for small favours. Where Chloe was, she would be too, and he didn’t mind that. He’d even promised her that he’d be there for her first day of middle school, and he intended to keep that promise, despite it being only about a month and two weeks from now.

And somewhere in England, there was a boy who was _his_ child. Trixie and he were only half a year apart in age. They might have. Things in common. Except that boy was half-angel, and did he mention his son?[✿]

4 Of course, he made sure it was always the guilty person, but that wasn’t often the case with others, and this was just one precinct in one city. Guilty people walked free and the innocent were killed everywhere else. Humans. They could be wonderful, but they could also be crueller than demons. Crowley was right about that.[✿]


	61. Demons Dancing

Crowley shoved his mobile into the pocket dimension within his back pocket and peeled himself off the wall. He was already here, and he said he was going inside, so he might as well grit his teeth and do it. He did rather need that drink, after everything that happened today.

He’s just told Lucifer about himself of his own accord. That was certainly a first. And Lucifer reacted exactly like he’d thought he would, all smugly excited because it was virtually his doing. If he hadn’t come to the cottage and mention that Rising was a thing, he wouldn’t have known and accepted that it was a thing and thus unwittingly embark on a journey towards doing the thing, and that bastard knew it.

It was kind of funny, how the tables have turned. Lucifer had brought him to his downfall—Downfall, one might say—back then, and now he was also the one who had brought him to his Uprising. Irony at its sharpest, really.

So here he was now, making himself unnoticeable in order to slip right past the bouncer and the queue of waiting people and enter LUX, Lucifer’s nightclub. On Earth. In the City of Angels. As an angel himself.

Unlike the last and only time he was there, it was packed with tipsy humans jumping and writhing in the rhythm of dance music and rather dark, illuminated only by spotlights and fairy lights under the ceiling, which made sneaking one’s way to the bar rather more difficult. Crowley almost felt like he was at one of Hell’s raves for a second. He grinned and then grimaced in the span of another second.

Hell didn’t have tables and padded couches and fancy staircases though, and neither did it have such a variety of alcoholic drinks, so he supposed this was an improvement on Lucifer’s part. He had to admit, Lucifer knew how to do things with style when given the means and opportunity. He also had to wonder why the heavens he didn’t use his literal realm-shaping abilities to rebuild Hell into something more like this, because he clearly _had_ an idea of modernness and elegance[1]. Honestly. _Crowley_ had to rebuild all the broken buildings.

He passed a pair of go-go dancers and let his eyes linger on them for a moment, and then he was finally sidling up to the bar and contemplating what to order. The music was _loud_ ; Aziraphale would _so_ hate this place. He grinned again.

He let a hand slide into a different pocket, also a door to a dimension considerably larger than itself, and finger the smooth, velvety black box it contained. He’s miracle-sent everything else home[2], but he kept this one on him. The rings he’s picked and managed to lock away in a dark corner of their own room in his mind so the surprise wouldn’t be ruined when he came home. Which was difficult, mind. Especially when he thought about them.

He should stop thinking about them and pick a—

‘Crowley? I thought it might be you! I could sense another celestial being in the club, so I immediately went to check.’

—drink.

He turned to his right and put on an exaggerated grin. Next to him stood Amenadiel, in all his angelic glory and a three-piece suit rather than a t-shirt and jeans. A cobalt blue suit and a baby blue shirt. He’s never seen that colour on him. His eyebrows moved distinctly upwards. ‘Don’t you clean up well,’ he said. ‘For a sec I forgot you were here.’

Amenadiel laughed. ‘Maze is here too, somewhere. We do run the place.’ He put an arm around Crowley’s shoulders and swept the other arm across the dancefloor. ‘So? What do you think?’

‘I think I need a drink,’ Crowley said. He turned to the bar and waved a bartender over. He ordered a margarita, and Amenadiel added that all his drinks were on the house because he was family. It was great, but also embarrassing.

‘Nah, I’ve got to admit, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.’

‘You’re on the money there,’ Amenadiel said. He leant sideways against the bar. ‘Since I took over the management, things have indeed not been _bad_.’

‘Ugh, angelic humour,’ Mazikeen scoffed on Crowley’s left. Belatedly, he registered the crackle of demonic aura in the air. He gave her a noncommittal nod and secretly agreed with her. Angels were horrible at jokes. She pulled on a beer and said, ‘Anyway. Welcome to the best club in the city, serpent. Properly this time.’

‘Appreciated.’ His margarita arrived. He took three hearty sips and asked, ‘So, Michael’s gone?’

‘That bitch? Yeah, you were right, she’s definitely a coward. One flash of this,’ Maze said, pulling out one of her knives and twisting it on her finger, ‘and a few honest words, and she fled right back to Heaven.’

‘Hnng,’ said Crowley. He took another sip. ‘Good. Didn’t want her here anyway.’

‘She has a lot to learn yet,’ noted Amenadiel, ‘but I believe she’ll get there one day. Maybe you might even find common ground at some point. I’m certainly hoping she and Luci might too.’ He paused and then added, ‘She sends her apologies, too. She regrets what she said.’

‘Didn’t sound like it,’ Crowley pointed out, the tone of his voice almost as sour as the lime decorating the rim of his cocktail glass. ‘I don’t know, Amen. I only told her the truth, and look how that turned out.’

‘Good thing we have eternity then,’ he replied with a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but turned out rather more ominous. Yep, eternity they had, provided the War wouldn’t restart at some point. Eternity with the same angels and demons always around and lurking somewhere. That was going to be _fun_.

Maze rolled her eyes. ‘God, you’re boring. We’re at _LUX._ Drink up and let’s _dance_.’

Amenadiel didn’t dance, which he went as far as to remind them[4], but Crowley had been a demon. He most definitely did, especially to disco and, more recently, this electronic stuff. He kicked back the rest of his margarita, slammed the glass onto the bar, and shuffled his way to the dancefloor proper. Mazikeen followed him, already swaying her hips to the beat.

‘Show me some _moves_ , serpent, I know you’ve got ‘em,’ she shouted over the music. She stopped at a relatively empty patch of space among the human clubgoers. ‘I’ve seen what you can do with your limbs when _sitting_.’

‘Oh yeah, perks of being snake-ish,’ he quipped. He swung his knees and did a few flaily moves with his arms and body that vaguely fitted the melody and were definitely more fluid and boneless than any human could do.

And she said, ‘I was wrong. Fuck, I forgot how bad demons were at this.’

He winced. Excuse him?

He could also see that her moves were quite different and quite more synchronised. And mostly, she was just effortlessly swinging her hands and twisting her hips, like the rest of the people there. _That_ was what passed for dancing these days?

‘Okay, watch and learn,’ she said, emphasising her arm moves and rolling her shoulders and hips with the music. ‘Though this ain’t so different from a Hell rave. They’re starting to degenerate to our level.’

‘I thought the same thing when I came here,’ Crowley said, probably too pleased. He tried to tone down his disco manoeuvres and copy her. Someone behind him bumped into him, and he was forced to step closer to her. That was—dangerous territory.

But he also tuned out the unpleasant sensations, inside and out, because she was right. This was a nightclub, and you generally came to those to dance and have fun. He soaked up the exhilaration and drunken insouciance that was rolling off of the people around him instead, like he had in that cocktail bar yesterday, and these positive emotions he spent so long not feeling got to him just as quickly as that tequila he’s drunk[5]. It wasn’t long before he forgot all about Hell and Michael and bad demon dancing and the rather deadly demon dancing face-to-face with him. He felt _great_. Could Aziraphale feel it too? Had to.

For a while, everything other than the music—some sort of Latin dance number now—ceased to exist. He was an angel; he was no stranger to music. The stuff they liked in Heaven was tedious, but humans, oh, they had some good stuff, from Beethoven to Led Zeppelin to this. This—this really drew you in, when you needed to let out some energy and forget the world.

Until, at one point, Mazikeen put a hand on his shoulder and ran a finger down his torso, which prompted him to snap his eyes open. She was nearly pressed against him, and her arm was guiding his moves even though he was taller than her.

‘Yeah, that’s better!’ she cried over the music. Her right hand settled on his hip, and the other went to join it by the way of his back. The tips of her nails scraped the spot between the physical and the metaphysical where the base of his right wings was, and it sent a shiver down both of them.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked through an uncomfortable smile. He _knew_ what she was doing; for one, he never lost his ability to sniff out sinful intentions, and he wasn’t an idiot. But he could also feel—pain and some hidden sadness beyond the sexy, carefree mask she was putting on[6].

‘Having fun,’ she exclaimed. Her sharp-nailed finger found his cheek. ‘Wanna have a different kind of fun upstairs, angel boy?’

‘What—I—not that I—’ He swallowed and let out a string of incomprehensible consonants before settling on, ‘I’m married to someone else!’

She bit her lip and raised an eyebrow. ‘So?’

‘So? We’re bonded, and, and, and, that’s, fffff.’

She dropped both hands and suddenly stopped dancing. ‘Right. You’re bonded to someone else, because that’s a thing you can do, and I can’t. I have _no one_. Everyone abandons me, and I don’t even—I don’t even have a soul.’

She stormed off, as much as you could in such a crowded space, probably towards the lift.

Crowley stood there, blinking.

Oh, God. She had no idea, did she? In all those years, Lucifer hasn’t told them. Not even her, his former right hand. Lesser Demons generally didn’t go about thinking about souls, but she—she was different. She was in pain and trying to forget things, just like him. She _wanted one_.

He ran a hand through his hair and went after her. Apparently, it was Bad Decisions Time. Again.

* * *

1 Honestly? He didn’t live there anymore; demons did. They had to like it this way, or else they’d have fixed things themselves. But they couldn’t be arsed, so neither could he. As Crowley had demonstrated, they were creatures of habit and couldn’t care less about style. And besides, the realm reflected the King, right? Lucifer’s dark, tumultuous inner self had to project itself _somewhere_ when he was there, and when he wasn’t, it showed his indifference and absence.[✿]

2 That being one beige autumn coat, one brown winter coat, two waistcoats, an oversized cardigan, four shirts, and two pairs of trousers in similar colours for Aziraphale and a pair of long-sleeved overalls, a pair of jeans, two pairs of boots, six shirts, a polo neck, and a black denim jacket for himself, as well as an award-winning American dessert cookbook and some more shades of nail polish[3]. All the clothes were designer and expensive, but it wasn’t like Jeff Bezos would even notice that a few thousand dollars were missing from his account, would he? And since he was at it, he also transferred a few million to the people who made all those clothes for barely the minimum wage. Taking from the rich and giving to the poor—he’d have called it the work of his demonic wiles before, but it was a good deed just as well. He didn’t have to find excuses for doing it anymore.[✿]

3 He liked nail polish, he’s found. He got a few bottles of dark metallic shades and some matte black, but he also risked a golden and a bronze one, much to his surprise. For the days when he felt particularly adventurous and wanted to add a speck of colour to all the black, or something. They matched his hair and his snake tattoo.[✿]

4 Temporary manager of a nightclub or not, he was still an _angel_. Watching all these humans and his demonic friend was quite enough of dancing in his opinion.[✿]

5 It wasn’t so different from imbibing large quantities of alcohol at once, being around concentrated love and joy and ecstasy and good old-fashioned lust, for a demon-turned-angel. You built up tolerance eventually, all planet-bound angels did, but before that could happen, you got plastered easily in loved places and large crowds of happy people—like, for example, at concerts or parties.

It had been the case for angels-turned-demons too, right after the Fall, just the other way around. Too many sins and miserable feelings crammed into a single space used to give them migraines and upset stomachs before they got used to them.[✿]

6 Quite literally. He’s met her in Hell a few times, so he knew what her true face looked like, half-rotten and gruesome. She always wore it proudly Down There.[✿]


	62. On the Nature of Souls

Crowley caught up with her just as the lift doors closed. He huffed and rolled his entire body in a frustrated, dramatic fashion—but then he remembered that it was hardly an obstacle for him and snapped his fingers. The door slid open.

Maze was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed and jaw set. Quietly fuming, she let out a soft snort when she saw him and his outrageous display of Being Better Than Her. ‘What, don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.’

‘I haven’t. No offence. _But,_ ’ he said, and held up an index finger before she could say anything else. He stepped inside the lift. ‘I might have something that you’ll want to listen to. So. Where are we going?’

For two very charged seconds, she glared at him. Then she reached for the topmost button. Penthouse it was.

‘Fine, what’s this about?’ she asked.

Good question. He hasn’t planned that far. He only realised that there was something Big and Important that she seemed to have no idea about and thought he should probably tell her despite having expressly been told not to a few thousand years back, because she was clearly worked up about it, and he, strangely enough, found himself trusting her. So, he was clearly out of his mind. Inconveniently revealed secrets were what has got him into all this trouble in the first place.

The doors closed. He hooked his thumbs in his jeans’ belt loops and took an unnecessary deep breath to give himself more time.

‘You don’t have a soul,’ he repeated back to her, ‘but you want one, am I right?’

The lift moved.

‘How do you know that,’ she spat as if he didn’t already know that she cared for children and liked to drink coconut water. Not quite the typical demon, she was. Rather like him when he’d still been one.

‘Ehh, just a hunch,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I don’t judge. You know what I’m like.’

‘Incompetent as a demon. _And_ as an angel, since you even got kicked out in the first place.’

‘Ouch. But true. And I’ve also minded my own business and never cared for the politics of Hell or what was proper for a demon to do. So this stays between us, yeah?’ he reassured her, gesturing between the two of them. She nodded. ‘You mentioned something about being—abandoned? And if you’re anything like me, you’re, errr, you’re trying to fill a hole with all sorts of stuff, partying, fighting, sex… but you have to face it eventually.’

Believe him; he was speaking from experience here. Rather unpleasant experience. That didn’t make it any less true.

With a ding, the doors slid open again and revealed the glory of Lucifer’s temporarily empty, dark, and somewhat frowsty penthouse. Mazikeen strode out of the lift first and turned the lights on. Crowley _gaped_. What the heavens has happened to that gorgeous piano since the last time he was here? It was in shambles!

She gave it the side-eye as she walked past it, and Crowley was fairly sure he’s got his answer. He sighed and fixed it, another in the long line of miracles he’s done today. He didn’t know why he bothered; Lucifer could have done it himself when he’ll have got back[1]. He followed her to the bar, which he hadn’t taken a good look at the last time.

He discovered a few bottles more expensive than any of the stuff downstairs and had to whistle in appreciation.

Maze reached for whisky and a tumbler poured herself three fingers. None for him—though she did pass him the decanter, which was a nigh unexpected development on her part. He grabbed a glass and filled it halfway. He was sure Lucifer wouldn’t mind them drinking his good alcohol when he was in Hell, left with nothing but diluted drinks that tasted like cleaning agents.

‘Linda loves Charlie, right?’ she began, taking a sip. ‘But I found out that she’s already had a kid before, a daughter. And she abandoned her. Like my mother abandoned—all of us, despite claiming to love us too. She left us to rot in Hell—and then Eve, I loved her, and she just—and even Lucifer! He left me here! They all leave, Crowley! Even Linda and Chloe and Ella and Trix will one day because they’re _human_ ; they’ll die and go where I can’t _follow_. Because I’m just a soulless demon and no one _cares_.’

She knocked back the rest of her whisky. ‘Linda did what she did because she had to. She wanted to give her daughter a better life, and so did Lilith in her own twisted way, but it just sucks, you know? You can choose, you Fallen, but we just _can’t_.’

Crowley blew out his cheeks. That was where she was wrong.

‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ he said. He sipped at his drink and had to admit, it was some excellent stuff. There was no label on the decanter, but if he had to guess, he’d say it was Scotch, pricey, and at least two decades old.

‘What do you mean,’ she asked, not a question.

‘This stays between us, right? And that applies to you too.’ He took another sip. She was already pouring herself another one. ‘I’m going to tell you something, ‘cos I had no idea that he’s never—but you can’t tell anyone. Especially in Hell. Believe me, I know a little something about unearthing ancient secrets that are better off buried and could start wars. And this one’s much, much bigger than mine, because this time it’s Lucifer, me, about thirty high-ranking Fallen, and your mother keeping it. I think. Could be more.’

She leant into his personal space and hissed, ‘What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything; I just know about it,’ he said. The knife made an appearance again. ‘Erk. Well. Where to start.’

‘The beginning might be a good place.’

This really wasn’t a good idea. But Crowley didn’t want to get discorporated and end up in Heaven—that was kind of what he’s been avoiding today—so he finished his drink and said, ‘You’ve always hated us Fallen, ‘cos while you can work your way up, you don’t have _powers_ , abilities, _wings_. You’re treated like shit most of the time. Not you—but the other Lilim. I mean, we call you Lesser Demons, for Christ’s sake. And the thing is, you have every right to hate us, because we’ve been—keeping something from you this whole time. Have you ever, er, read the Great Plan?’

‘I know of it,’ she said, eyes narrowed. ‘And you’re a bunch of entitled bastards. We been knew[2]. Keep going.’

‘There was that whole thing with fighting angels, right? But before Earth, before Lilith, there were barely enough demons to mind alien Hell Loops, let alone to fight ten million angels in the War[3]. And humans were about to go into production. We needed demonpower. And when I say _we_ , I mean _them_ , obviously. I had nothing to do with it. Just to be clear. Erm.’ He spun on his barstool and faced the stone wall of the bedroom. ‘Anyway. Adam and Lilith came—you know _that_ story—and before you know it, she was with us and had a lot of children, you being one of them. But we needed a system, order, y’know, someone to do the torturework and someone to rule. You and your siblings, you were the children of the Fallen; you were under us anyway, and it would _work_ , but you know the higher-ups, they, er, they had a different idea.

‘And—hah, now that we know about self-actualisation and how it affects Nephilim just as well, I guess we know why it worked even better than they thought.’ He turned to her again. ‘Because, Mazikeen, there’s a _reason_ why we call you Lesser Demons. You’re not really demons, strictly speaking. You’re Cambions, half-demon and half-human[4]. But since the Fallen are physiologically equal to angels, well. It’s almost the same as Nephilim. As Charlie or the Antichrist. So you self-actualise. You are what you believe you are.’

Maze held her glass suspended in the air. She looked like she wanted to crush it with her bare hand, but she put it down instead. ‘But they have wings. Powers. Souls. Charlie and the antichrist kid.’

‘Yeah. They do,’ Crowley confirmed. He drank and waited for the penny to drop.

‘What—what are you saying?’ she said, voice uncharacteristically small.

‘You can possess people, right? Exist outside a corporeal body?’

She blinked and straightened herself. ‘Yeah, sure. I never did it, but I could. I could even possess you if I wanted to, except, angel, demon—’

‘Would probably explode,’ he finished with her. A smile tugged at his lips. ‘And if you can do that, you can get discorporated and survive. Think about it.’ The smile became a grin. ‘What d’you think that is, that, that immaterial part of you that lives on when your body is discarded?’

‘Essence,’ she said. Everyone knew that.

‘Which is just a fancy word for soul, Maze. Or maybe soul’s a fancy word for essence. Either way, no one can give you a soul, because you already have one,’ he said. He put his glass down with a clink. The silence that followed could almost be described as deafening. ‘Every living thing does, and I mean _every_ living thing[5]. I was there during Creation. Humans, angels… and you’re a bit of both.’

‘Then why do I—why—’ Her eyes darkened. Literally. ‘You lied to us. All of us. All the books say—’

‘I know what the books say. And I know what they don’t say. You were told that you didn’t have souls or powers or—’

‘Wings,’ she finished. ‘You say we’re half-fallen angel, which, yeah, we are. Why don’t we have wings?’

‘Because they took them right after you were born,’ Crowley said. The words were heavy on his lips. His own wings twitched. ‘Your mother and the Princes. There’s this—spell, you could say. It severs the wings before they even manage to grow and fledge.’

‘And you were there,’ she stated. Her hand clenched around the blade.

‘No, but. Lucifer asked me to tell him how to do it. I knew that because of who I’d been. Who I am. I didn’t agree with it, didn’t want to do it, but—I had no choice.’

Maze lashed out at him.

* * *

1 Look. Whatever feud Maze was currently busy having with Lucifer, he wasn’t going to get mixed up in it. That was between them. But that piano didn’t deserve it, and he supposed he didn’t want Lucifer to see it like that. That would make the whole thing worse, because he might become genuinely angry with her and do something he might regret. Crowley knew how attached Lucifer was to that thing, as per the speech he’s given him one day in Hell. And he was starting to like Maze. Birds of a feather and all. Well, not quite—but he was getting to that.[✿]

2 Trixie has been teaching her modern human slang. She liked it. And memes. They were close to hellish humour. Lilim didn’t have much slang because it was a pretty inflexible language, but she’s been teaching Trixie some too.[✿]

3 There hadn’t been twenty million angels in Heaven that had divided into two halves in the War. There had been about fifteen million, and only a rough third of them have Fallen. They hadn’t stood a chance. They’d been in the minority. With higher numbers, though, they’d thought they might win the second war yet.[✿]

4 For the record, Maze knew this. Everyone knew this. They’ve just never given it a thought; everyone called them demons, so that was what they were. No one really cared for semantics in Hell.[✿]

5 The only living thing that didn’t have a soul were zombies, but they weren’t really living, and neither were they real, because that myth originated with gross demons possessing dead bodies, so. Focus, Crowley.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if it was ever specified in the show but in the comics, the Lilim are children of Lilith and fallen angels and even regular angels, meaning they're technically nephilim and cambions. So they should be like crazy powerful, right? But they're not, not in the show. And this whole Maze wanting a soul thing... it got me thinking. Why aren't they powerful? Why don't they have wings? Or souls? Because they should. And they did actually mention something about demons having essences too. So yeah, here we are :')


	63. Repercussions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried not to go over 3K in this fic but damn it I've already split this chapter once before and given this subplot three chapters, I'm not splitting it again. Have a surprisingly long one then! :)

Her blade sliced through the air right where Crowley’s throat had been a second ago. He jumped off the barstool and reeled backwards, but she wasted no time. Both of her demonic knives slashed at him in rapid succession, and he just barely dodged them by swerving to the side and almost crashing into the restored piano. He wasn’t good at hand-to-hand combat—but he’s spent millions of years in hellish environments. He knew how to avoid being stabbed. It just wasn’t elegant.

Then she spun and kicked him right in the solar plexus. This time, he _did_ crash into the piano. _Ow_. Thankfully, nothing broke.

His wings flapped out. He jumped and floated away from it, just a few inches off the ground. For a winged being, Lucifer had unusually and inconveniently low ceilings in his flat. It was like that when he moved in, sure, but has he never heard of dimensional remodelling[1]?

Mazikeen took a run up and charged. ‘You fucking hypocritical bastard,’ she screamed. ‘And Lucifer? How _could_ he!’

‘I know, I know,’ Crowley said in between ducking to avoid getting his handsome face slashed and trying to land a hit to her stomach. Unsuccessfully. ‘You have every right to be pissed at him. He definitely deserves that. But let’s be rea—’

She kneed him in the stomach. ‘Don’t say reasonable. I _am_ reasonable.’

He stretched his left wing out and then aimed for her legs. He toppled a lamp and some books lying atop a glass table in doing so, but he also managed to get her off balance long enough to grab her arm and seize one of the blades. He tossed it aside.

‘And that’s just not _fair_ ,’ she snarled. ‘You _took_ my _wings_!’

‘I didn’t!’ he cried. She was just as good with one blade. ‘I only showed Luci the sigil and the—’ He jumped up onto an armchair standing on his left. The upholstery groaned under him. ‘Incantation. Like I said, the Princes did it[2].’

‘And my _mother_.’ She gritted her teeth and grabbed his leg. She pulled, throwing him down. His back hit the backrest, wings twisting in all sorts of weird and unpleasant angles. He tried to kick her and toppled backwards in doing so, together with the surprisingly unstable armchair.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, Aziraphale was alarmedly wondering what the hell was going on. There was no time. He’d explain later, possibly with video-quality flashback memories and a glass of wine. He pushed the anxious feelings down.

He felt bad about it, but there was no time to focus on that either.

Maze shouted, ‘How can someone _do_ that to their children?!’

She threw the remaining knife at his wing. He winced them both in a millisecond before it could pin it down and rolled to the side, breathing hard. The knife embedded itself in the floor. She jumped onto and over the fallen armchair and grabbed his shirt to bring him up. Then she punched him in the face.

Crowley cracked his jaw. The second time, he caught her fist. He bashed his forehead against hers. That disoriented her long enough for him to scramble away from her and get to his feet. The downside was that the pain went two ways, and it felt worse than a Hell-alcohol-induced hangover.

But he blinked it away and summoned his staff, because that was apparently something he did a lot now. He pinned Mazikeen to the floor with the dull end. ‘Oh yeah? I’m pretty sure God did the same thing to us when we were cast out,’ he said, still panting.

He’d ordered His children to cast some of His other children out and into that awful, dark dimension called Hell and taken their grace, and the loyal children had been in on it and thought it was the right thing to do. Lilith had taken her children’s wings and powers before they could even develop and all but trapped them in Hell, and the Princes had been eager to do it. You could play Spot the Difference with that and find one: the fact that no one ever talked about the second picture.

Crowley himself hasn’t thought about it for years, maybe centuries. Seriously, he didn’t even know it was still a secret.

‘That’s even _worse_ ,’ Maze said, struggling to wriggle out of the staff’s grip and get up. Crowley was strong when he wanted to be though. That didn’t just apply to lifting tall stacks of books and bedroom activities. ‘God did that to Lucifer, and he hates Him for it, and then he just—’

She sobbed and slackened against the floor. ‘Then he just let the Fallen do that to us[3].’

Crowley eased his hold on her and let the staff knock against the floor. He offered her a hand. She frowned and didn’t take it, but as she scrambled to her feet, she didn’t try to attack him again. That was probably a good sign.

She put her arms akimbo and paced the length of the cracked stone wall. She whispered, ‘Bastards.’

‘It was necessary. It was—hell, I don’t know why I’m defending them; it was cruel and wrong,’ Crowley said. He thought the staff away and took off his sunglasses. He folded them and hung them on his shirt. Then he looked her in the eye. ‘But Lilith believed you’d be better off this way, in Hell. The other Lilim certainly seem to like their existence as is and don’t go thinking about souls.’

He sat on the back of the other armchair.

‘But listen—you self-actualise. Now that you know that it’s possible to be like us, you _can_ be. That whole vat of knowledge has just unlocked itself, like when Lucifer told _me_ about it—but it’s been there the whole time, Maze, buried deep inside because you believed everything they told you. You were a _child_! You thought you were vulnerable to human weapons and couldn’t summon fire with your mind or, or, or teleport, so you didn’t. But it’s there. You can do all the things Fallen can.’

‘He told you about Rising but didn’t tell me about any of this,’ she scoffed, shaking her head. ‘Typical. I’m _so_ going to kick his ass and discorporate him very, _very_ painfully when he gets back.’ She unstuck the blade from the floor and gave him a look that was almost as sharp. ‘Anyway. Fix it.’

‘No, _you_ have to fix it,’ he said. Internally, he congratulated himself for staying this calm and not devolving into nervously tapping his fingers and sputtering consonant-y sounds. ‘You have to choose it for yourself. I don’t know how, it just—it has to happen on your terms. Believe in yourself. Or something. But—’ He stepped towards her and pinned her to the wall before she even knew what was going on. ‘I can do this.’

He quickly placed his palm against her forehead and pulled on the pools of rekindled power within him. He focused on her immaterial demonic essence and, stepping back, pulled it out of her body in one swift gesture[4].

She floated in front of him, first as a bodiless demon bearing its shape—rotten face and all—but then it gave way to her true form. A misty cloud of black and crimson, sparkled with bits of Hellfire and sucking in light and air like every demon did, whirled everywhere around him, and seven brown eyes stared at him. There should have been wings. There weren’t, and it was disturbing, and it was partially thanks to him.

There were spots of silver in that cloud too, and that was the human part, the spark Lilith had given her children. As long as they had that, they’d always have a capacity for love and kindness. Maze was the only one he’s ever known to access it, though[5].

‘See yourself? That’s you, your essence, all light-sucky and demony. I don’t know who your father is, but I can tell that he used to be a Power.’ He gestured at her eyes. ‘It’s the seven eyes. They were the lowest of the Second Sphere but still pretty powerful, let me tell ya. Look, they’re even _called_ Powers. And that could be you.’

 _I could be an angel?_ said a voice everywhere around him. He forgot true forms did that.

‘Er, y—no, you were never one in the first place; you were _born_ half-demon and half-human. But you could be a Cambion in their full power, which is, well, almost stronger than a regular, hundred-percent demon. The human bit gives you a little extra spark. I mean… look at Merlin, he’s one[6].’

He pushed her back into her body. Staring at her like this made his skin crawl.

She shivered and stuck out her tongue, cringing. ‘That was _weird_ ,’ she said. Then she cleared her throat. Crowley backed off. She opened her mouth to continue but quickly closed it again as another thought hit her. Smugly, she crossed her arms and said, ‘That’s why you kept it a secret. We could be more powerful than you and overthrow you.’

‘I think you could, all of you together. That’s what Beelzebub and the others were afraid of,’ he said. ‘I really meant what I said. You can’t tell anyone else. I told _you_ , ‘cos you’re different, and you’re an ally. You’re on Earth’s side. You deserve to know. But the others… phew, nope, that wouldn’t be good. Hell’s a bit better now, with the parliament, which Lilim can be a part of. They have a voice. And we managed to get there without a war. Lucifer—he’s doing all this for Chloe. For all of you. Take it up with him, but don’t bring the rest of Hell into it. That wouldn’t end well for _anyone_.’

‘They deserve to know too,’ she replied. ‘We’ve always lived in oppression. This isn’t right.’

‘That I can agree with,’ said Crowley. ‘But that doesn’t change the fact that telling them would erase everything we’ve worked for. Those other demons, they’re cruel, emotionless; they _act_ like they don’t have souls. They _like_ torturing people in loops. The system works.’

‘So do I,’ she said. She sighed. ‘No, I get it. And I don’t care for them either way. But Lucifer _is_ getting what’s coming to him.’ She pointed the blade at him. ‘You can count on that. He’ll heal up and go back to running the club and working with Decker, but he’s going to have to live with knowing what he’s done. So are you.’

She peeled herself off the wall and went to pick up the other blade, which lay somewhere in the general area of Lucifer’s small office space.

Crowley turned on his heel and said, ‘Ngh. Add that to the list.’

‘Glad we’re on the same page.’ She hid her knives away and headed back to the bar.

He righted the toppled armchair and picked up the books and lamp and put them back on the table. He rubbed at his eyes and let out another exhale. ‘Believe me, I know something about secrets and pain and change and all this unexpected self-actualisation business. I was where you are two months ago. And then shit almost literally hit the fan. It’s still doing it. Shit’s being flung around thanks to the fan and hitting everyone across three dimensions.’

‘Yeah, I noticed,’ she said. She poured more whisky into her tumbler and turned to him. ‘I’m… glad you told me. But I also hate it. Thanks a lot.’

‘Welcome to my world,’ he snorted. He sauntered up to the bar and tapped his fingers against its cool surface. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll go now. Leave you to your thoughts and your—drinking. You’ll need it. And probably to talk to Linda.’

Unlike him, she had the advantage of living with her and being able to bother her and being bothered in turn whenever. That would probably be good for her. Not so much for Linda, who was also in for another celestial shock and lots of unpaid therapy hours.

‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone,’ Maze said, deadpan.

He groaned. ‘Don’t tell _demons_ , obviously. You can tell Linda and Amenadiel. They’d know anyway. Comes with powers, this stuff, remember?’

‘Right. Question.’ She pointed her glass at him. ‘Do angels know about it?’

He blew a raspberry. ‘No idea. Probably not.’

Although Gabriel might, because of the bond—but it all happened back when he and Beelzebub hadn’t been in touch, and Crowley doubted she thought about the Lilim often, so it was just as likely that he didn’t. He hadn’t known about _him_ , and that was another thing he could have learnt from Beelzebub over the years. So the answer was still “probably not”.

‘Right,’ she said again. She drank what was in the glass. He was still leaning against the bar. ‘Well, fuck off then, what are you waiting for? Unless you wanna get in that bed—’

‘Bye, Maze,’ he said, making for the lift. He gave her a backward wave. ‘See ya at breakfast, probably.’

When the doors closed in front of him, he slumped against the wall.

This would probably backfire against him one day. He was sure of it. He’s just told someone something he shouldn’t have, and he didn’t even know her that well. She was a demon. Notorious for backstabbing. Literally, because demons stabbed each other in the back quite often.

He may not agree with the system, but he had to admit that it did work. The Lilim had been raised under the impression that they didn’t have powers, so they didn’t know that they had them and could use them, so they didn’t. It was easy to control them and subdue them. They clocked in, did their work, clocked out, went to the bad Starbucks, spent an hour entertaining themselves, clocked in again… and on and on and on. They weren’t burdened by any of the Fallen Drama and Pain. They kept the wheels—or Circles—turning.

And now Mazikeen knew. Maybe she won’t tell anyone, but if she did realise her powers and start using them, someone might notice. And ask questions. Just like they did when Lucifer told _him_ about a big celestial secret and he realised _his_ powers. And when that happened to him, it’s all gone to hell in a handbasket, to use an appropriate American expression.

But he was just trying to help her, right? Do the right—

Thing.

Oh.

_Oh._

Well, guess he now understood why Lucifer did it.

Despite everything, he still looked out for his siblings. He meant well. He was trying to help him, telling him about Rising. He was being insufferable about it, but he wanted him to move on and live a better life because he knew how much Crowley despised Hell and that he still blamed him for dragging him down with him. So he told him it was all his own fault—sure, yeah, what a lovely notion. But he was right. And it worked. Even if Crowley hadn’t wanted it.

 _Hadn’t_ being the operative word.

As he’d said—the new Lucifer did everything he did for the people he loved. To protect them. It wasn’t his fault that it usually ended with a disaster; that was just how things were.

Crowley fished his mobile out of his pocket and dialled Lucifer’s number once more. He waited.

And waited.

Until he heard the voicemail message. He didn’t pick up. Well, that was anticlimactic[7].

He sighed. He hasn’t left a voicemail in ages, because Aziraphale didn’t own an ansaphone, or a mobile phone, or anything that could retain them. Guess today was the day.

‘Hey, me again,’ he began. The magically paused lift still hasn’t moved and wouldn’t do so for as long as he needed to be inside it. ‘Listen, first off, don’t be mad at me, but I wanted you to know—and, well, prepare yourself for a shitstorm headed your way when you’re back. I er, told Mazikeen about the soul thing.

‘She was angsting over wanting one, which you’d know if you hadn’t left her here. She won’t tell anyone, I don’t think, but she’s right mad at you, mate. Can’t say I blame her. I didn’t even know it was still a secret.

‘Anyway. Then I realised—two months ago, you came to my house and turned my world upside down, and I hated it, and now I did literally the same thing to her. And I suppose—I suppose I understand now. I get why you did it. Because you care. And you really have changed. And I’m starting to think that I’m changing too—I mean, I even use the word _angel_ in my head now. It’s weird. And I’m digressing. So—pffffff, yeah. Just wanted to thank you, ‘cos I don’t think I ever did. For that, anyway.

‘Erm. That’s that I guess. Oh, and P. S., LUX _is_ a pretty cool place, I’ve got to say. You’ve done well for yourself here, Luci. Ciao.’

He ended the message and sent it before he could change his mind. Then he pressed the button and took the lift back downstairs.

* * *

1 He has. It has never occurred to him to apply it to the penthouse. It wasn’t like he needed space to fly there; he could do that outside. It wasn’t _that_ often that one of his siblings or another angel tried to fight him there. Or fight there, full stop.[✿]

2 In fact, no one but Lucifer even knew that he knew about it. He’d asked him on the side a few months after the Original Sin. He’d helped him with the Earth job, and that was the day he called in the favour. And if Crowley didn’t give him the answers, he could take his offer back and assign him to a desk just as well, or perhaps mention his secret to a few demons, so really, he _had to_ do it. Lucifer then went and acted like he’d known it himself, taking all the credit as he did. But it was fine. Crowley survived.[✿]

3 More than just _let_. He may not have come up with the plan, but he’d sanctioned it and gone to Crowley to get the spell. He’d already been—different, then, than he’d been at the beginning, but he’d still been decidedly more Satan-y. But then again… he’s always done all sorts of things to keep things working and avoid too much commotion. Look at him now, asking Crowley to reveal _his_ secret and take care of his mess for him.[✿]

4 If he’d known how to do this before, as a demon, it could have saved him half of all this trouble, but _no_ , he had to remember only _after_ everything was said and done and he was an angel again. But then again, he probably wouldn’t have asked Aziraphale to bond with him this early on if he hadn’t had certain side intentions of finding out just how demonic or angelic his essence was… and that would just be boring. He knew himself. He wouldn’t have gathered up the courage for at least another decade. So he supposed there was a silver lining to it, eh? Or should he say golden lining?[✿]

5 He hasn’t met many of them though, given that he spent most of his time on Earth. There were Lilim in all the cities. In all the Circles he’s never visited. He couldn’t know them all and know what they did or didn’t do. That being said, there was one other demon who’s developed a spot of conscience and sympathy and even thought about morals and souls sometimes, and that was a Hell Loop Architect with a name so complicated and unpronounceable that everyone just called him Michael, at first to piss him off because it was an angel name, but then it caught on because he wasn’t Fallen and therefore didn’t experience any Michael-related trauma.[✿]

6 Although… the last time he’s seen him was on a bench in Hyde Park, and he was old and scruffy and did nothing to make people stop thinking that he was a weird homeless bloke. He was still immortal but hasn’t used his powers in a while, and really, he’s always been a tad incompetent despite all that magic. Probably a bad example.[✿]

7 For those interested, he was currently busy delivering a lecture to the eleven discorporated demons, with the help of some Holy Fire in his fireplace and vague threats of ending up in it after waiting out the endless queue for handing out bodies if they spoke but a word of what happened.[✿]


	64. Crossing the Line

Michael didn’t care for the linear passage of time, because such a concept was for mortals. Though if she were to guess, she’d say she hasn’t left the gym for almost a full Earth day[1].

She’s been practising her routines, sparring with any and all willing angels, fencing with some of the Universe’s best Heaven-bound warriors, even hitting a fully innocent punchbag with her bare fists like she’s seen humans do in films a few times. She’s drunk four cups of Holy Water Coffee and played some of the most intense classical pieces through her earbuds.

None of that, however, extinguished the intrusive thoughts whirling through her head.

She’d hurt Crowley before, and now she hurt him again. He would probably never want to talk to her again. And it was her fault. She’d wanted to forget, and he’d wanted to be forgotten. He’d said it himself—he had no reason to ever come back to Heaven, given how they’d all treated him the first time around. That was fine. He’d been trouble anyway. He’d only be more trouble now, having spent two million years as a demon. What was the word that she used? Oh, yes. _Discord_.

Although… there’s already been discord before any of this. The memories added fuel to the fire, but the fire has been burning hot and vibrant blue since the thwarted Apocalypse. No, since _before_ that, the Nine have said. She’d just been unable to see it. This was no one else’s fault but the Archangels’ own for overlooking the lowest angels and thinking only of the Great Plan, which has only proved to be a sham.

God wanted peace, and angels had a semblance of free will, apparently.

They’d used it in the name of the Almighty, but they’d used it—wrong. They’d taken it upon themselves to judge one of their own: The Principality Aziraphale, whom they treated no better than a rank-and-file guardian angel or a _human_. They’d made him feel so unwelcome in Heaven that he’d found a home on Earth, the place he’d been ordered to protect, and then they’d been surprised that he’d gone to absurd lengths to actually protect it and hadn’t been interested in re-joining their ranks. They’d tried to execute him without a trial.

It was up to them now to try and use it for good. For true peace and prosperity in Heaven.

Where she belonged. This—this was just another opportunity to learn. She wouldn’t waver. She couldn’t. She was an Archangel, and Archangels didn’t give up; they immersed themselves in their work even further and did everything for the cause. The cause has merely changed, that was all.

She couldn’t _Fall_. She wouldn’t. This was her purpose, to do this and fix this. Her own mistakes of the past.

And were they really starting to hurt. More than her hands did right now, delivering a blow after blow to the unfortunate punchbag.

She was wrong. She’s hurt her brother. She’s hurt herself. And this time, the pain couldn’t be pushed down and ignored for so long that every bit of emotion and all memories she had of the brothers the rest of them had cast out were erased simply because all other alternatives would revive it. Michael had to accept that, face it, and somehow, someday, hopefully, find the strength to move past it and earn forgiveness.

If she wished for forgiveness, she should start with herself, Crowley had said. Hamaliel had said practically the same thing before. But could she really? She’s thought she was following God’s orders, but that didn’t change the fact that she’s done something terrible and then deliberately ignored it.

What if she needed his first?

But for that, he’d have to give her a second chance.

She couldn’t return to that house. Any of the earthly houses he might find himself in, really. She’d blow up again, and this time, it might not end as relatively peacefully as it had. She needed to calm down and work on herself first.

So she punched the bag until it broke off and flew all the way across the empty white gym[2] and crashed into the wall. Her knuckles bled gold.

She dropped onto a chair that has just materialised under her and let out a soft snort. It was the kind of injury Crowley would be able to fix with a single touch but couldn’t because he wasn’t here, because he didn’t want to be, and she’s botched it up.

Something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. A tear. She wiped it away. That just _didn’t happen_. She hasn’t cried since the Fall, and this was the second time in a single month.

Amenadiel mentioned something about allowing herself to feel emotions though, hasn’t he? Allowing herself to be vulnerable? She was a warrior; she couldn’t be vulnerable. But her hands said otherwise.

A single drop of golden ichor dripped onto the pristine white floor. How pathetic.

Then someone didn’t knock and walked straight into the room. A quick read on their aura told her all she needed. She took out her earbuds and sat straighter on the chair, facing Gabriel with feigned calm on her face and hair unusually out of place. Needless to say, she did _not_ want to see him right now.

‘Michael! I’ve been looking for you,’ he said confidently. He was projecting confidence throughout the entire room, and it did recharge her proverbial batteries somewhat. His step faltered as he drew nearer, however. He looked from her to the punchbag to her again. ‘Michael? Everything alright?’

She wanted to say, _of course, why wouldn’t it be?_ But he was her brother too and could see through the lie. Instead, she said, ‘I’ve gone to see Crowley.’

He cringed. ‘I take it that it didn’t go well?’

‘Not particularly, no,’ she confirmed, as expressionless as she could muster. ‘He was in Los Angeles. I’ve seen Amenadiel too, and that Lilim he lives with. Some—words were spoken.’

‘I mean, what else could you expect?’ he said. Michael didn’t like his condescending tone. ‘He’s not one of us anymore. We cast him out; he hates us. Pretty straightforward. So, anyway—’

‘Gabriel.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Shut. Your. Mouth. The last thing I need right now is to listen to you. Whatever you want, it can wait.’

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. He loudly clasped his hands in front of him. ‘This is important. It’s about the survey, which was your idea if I’m not mistaken. Since you weren’t here, I took it upon myself to sort it out with Pravuil and the Nine[3], and we’ve got a few things that we need you to look over.’

‘You’ve done something useful for once, well done,’ she riposted. ‘I’ll look at it. Later. I’d rather you went away now.’

She flexed her bruised fingers and tried to pour as much regenerative energy into them, but she was no Healer. It couldn’t be done fast. It would hurt—but the physical pain briefly distracted her from the emotional pain.

He stayed glued to the spot, frowning. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he pointed out very cleverly. ‘What happened? Do you wanna… talk about it?’

She sighed. She has made it quite clear that she didn’t, not with him, but when he wanted to make a nuisance of himself, no one could stop him. And she probably did need to talk to _someone_. Even if that someone was Gabriel. He was even better than her at burying feelings and ignoring pain. And he understood. He’d cast out his _bondmate_. That was worse than casting out a sibling.

‘How did you deal with it?’ she asked. ‘Casting Beelzebub out?’

‘Oof,’ he said, pulling another face. He miracled an identical chair and planted himself into it. ‘Well, to be honest, I…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I tried to ignore her and not think about it. But I couldn’t. Some seven hundred years ago, I finally broke and contacted her, and we fought it out and fucked it out and eventually fixed it, as much as that’s even possible. But I remembered the whole time, and it took that long. I—’ He snorted. ‘I apologised and told her I regretted it, a few days ago. And I do. I do regret it. But she doesn’t. And you can’t change the past.’

‘You apologised and told her you regretted it,’ Michael repeated. She blinked. Now that was a sentence she’d never thought she’d hear come out of his mouth, related to _anything_. ‘How’d she react?’

‘She didn’t stab me, so that’s something I guess,’ he said, oddly fond. He squirmed in the plastic chair. He probably didn’t want to talk about it any more than she did. Actually, she was surprised that he hasn’t stormed out at the mention of his spouse and the notorious circumstances of her Fall. ‘Like I said, she said she didn’t want my regret and blocked the connection. Don’t tell anyone.’

‘Oh, I won’t,’ she said. She glanced at her gold-stained hands again, and threw one trainer-shod[4] leg over the other and clasped her hands around her knee. Then she brought herself to look him in the eye again. ‘It still hurts, though, doesn’t it? You’ll always know that you—did it. You feel the pain.’

‘Every goddamn day, Michael,’ he confessed. ‘Can we change the subject now?’

‘Oh sweet Lord,’ she breathed. ‘I had—I didn’t know, Gabriel.’

‘Yeah.’

A silence that could almost be described as awkward stretched between them. _Almost_ being the operative word, because she spoke before it could qualify. ‘That’s how I feel now, with Crowley. I betrayed him just as you betrayed your bondmate. He didn’t deserve it. I wish I’d listened to him. I wish I could take it back too. I thought I had a chance yesterday—but I was blind. I was selfish. I didn’t even stop to think that he might not want to come back.’

‘Come back?’ Gabriel raised an eyebrow. The condescending tone would be back; she knew it. ‘He’s a demon; he can’t come back, Michael.’

‘That’s the thing. He isn’t.’

Gabriel stilled and blinked exactly twice. ‘What?’

‘You can’t tell anyone either,’ she emphasised, because she wasn’t supposed to do that in the first place[5]. ‘But he’s Risen. He’s an angel again, and all the more it—hurts.’

Gabriel shot up and clenched his fists. The faint outline of his wings tensed. ‘He’s— _what_? How? How _dare_ he!?’

‘ _How dare he_?’ she reiterated, disbelieving. She stood up too, albeit much more slowly. ‘He’s moved on and healed himself, Gabriel. He forgave himself and embraced _love_. What does it say about us that we can’t? That my first instinct was to fight him and call him out on things that are only half-true when he chose Earth over Heaven even as an angel, but he was _kind_?’

‘I—okay. That’s too much.’ He paced on the spot, arms akimbo.

Michael took an aggrieved step closer. ‘Don’t you feel anything for him? He’s your _brother_. Don’t the memories hurt, like those of Beelzebub? Because you clearly _are_ capable of feeling emotions, and you _do_ feel pain.’

He spun to face her. ‘He doesn’t deserve it!’ he shouted. ‘He’s just a, a, a, a fiend from Hell who Fell and erased himself from our memories. He caused all this mess that we’re in. Okay, Crowley was Raphael, fine. I accept that. I have all these memories, and I’m learning to work with them and get over it. But then he gets to _Rise_ too?’

‘Apparently he does,’ she said coldly. ‘And he didn’t even want it. But we self-actualise. The Almighty either sanctions it or has nothing to do with it, but one way or another, it’s on him. We are not ones to question it. No, we should be glad he’s one of us again. We cast him down, but he got back up.’

Gabriel shook his head. ‘First Lucifer, and now him. What’s next, all demons will want to go back and we’ll accept them instead of smiting them? Enough has already changed around here.’

Michael was a war strategist. Crowley had exposed her silly, ill-conceived ruse to bring him back, but she recognised the same between-the-lines tone in Gabriel’s voice right now. ‘You’re jealous,’ she stated. ‘He’s back, and Beelzebub isn’t and will never want to be.’

He didn’t say anything, only stared. It was as good as a confession.

‘But see this, Gabriel. My guilt and pain didn’t dissipate. It’s not a victory that absolved me of my blame. It isn’t for you either, and neither would be her Rising. You can’t tick a box and say this is over because Crowley is an angel. I tried. It doesn’t work.’

‘Well, maybe for you. I’m done with him. And I’m not _jealous_ ; I’m an angel. We don’t _get_ jealous, Michael. They were all traitors, Crowley, Lucifer… They deserved it. They don’t deserve to Rise again. What’s the _point_ , then?’

She sucked in a strong breath, half a mind to pinch her nose. He wasn’t even convinced of that _himself_ ; his aura betrayed the doubt. ‘The past is the past. Things change, brother. The point was, or so he and Amenadiel think, to learn a lesson that we failed to learn. They did, and now it’s our turn.’

He smoothed his tie and put on a phoney smile. ‘Whatever. I’m going to go and leave you to your philosophising. Do look over the forms though, will you?’

‘Go to your demon Prince,’ she scoffed. He was already on his way. ‘Before I decide you’re a fitting replacement for that punchbag over there.’

‘Oh, so you want to fight?’ he asked, turning his head back. His wings ruffled, and his gaze dropped to her hands. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

She produced a shuriken out of a pocket dimension and flung it his way without blinking. He paused time around it and brushed it aside. That was the disadvantage of fighting with her siblings, as opposed to demons, lower angels, and non-celestials: they could all do tricks like that.

‘Nice try,’ he mocked. ‘But two can play that game. You’re _on_ , sis.’

* * *

1 She’d be correct in that assumption. It’s been 23 hours and 16 minutes since she left Amenadiel’s.[✿]

2 When she rather humiliatingly defeated all of her opponents—erm, sparring partners—they’d all walked, and in one case hobbled, away and left her there. That was about the time she started letting out her frustration on the punchbag. It was partly because of the crushing defeat, partly because they wanted to give her her privacy, and partly because they anticipated something like this happening and didn’t want to be there for it, because then it might be their turn again.[✿]

3 Even if it was _her_ job, and _her_ plan, and _her_ ridiculous promises. He still liked it no more than he’d done a few days ago. Imagine the amount of useless paperwork it would create! And little angels thinking they could be friends with Archangels! They were called _Arch_ angels for a reason. But anyway, he did it, because he was a good brother and didn’t slack off, unlike _someone_.[✿]

4 White trainers, beige leggings, white vest: such were Michael’s latest exercise clothes, procured in the Year of the Lord 2017. She had a standard to keep up. Not like Gabriel and his grey tracksuit or two certain groups of Powers and Virtues dressed in galaxy-print workout-wear, purplish and bluish, respectively.[✿]

5 “Don’t tell anyone, especially Gabriel.” Yeah. Right. Well, it was too late. But who was he going to tell anyway? The angels he would tell already knew, Uriel was still off somewhere, and Beelzebub was good at keeping secrets that were convenient for her.[✿]


	65. Trouble from the Start

Lucifer shouldn’t have listened to the voicemail right after he left that obnoxiously long digitalisation meeting and finally got some fresh air. Or, well, air. It certainly couldn’t be called fresh, because the only fresh thing in Hell were the thriving colonies of mould and algae that constantly grew and spread across the damp ceilings, walls, and floors everywhere even despite the monthly Hellfire incinerations inflicted upon them. But he digressed.

Of course, he couldn’t have known what it was about until he listened to it, but still. He shouldn’t have listened to it. Why, oh why did this keep happening to him? He’s _just_ smoothed over one of Crowley’s problems—with uncertain results, because demons were demons and the Cult of Crowley was still somewhat unpredictable after the Raphael revelation, but he _tried_ —and now his brother went and did something _again_.

Has he always been this much trouble? He didn’t remember him being this much trouble before.

But then again, he was the same person who’d “got up there and made some trouble”, as per Lucifer’s instructions. Making trouble and divulging their true potential to people was kind of his thing. Bless it. Lucifer should’ve seen this coming. He _knew_ what he’d been like in Heaven.

It was just that usually, it had been a good thing for Lucifer. Until it wasn’t.

“Thank you,” he said, and Lucifer preened at that. “Don’t be mad at me,” he also said. That was easier said than done. Crowley didn’t know Maze like he did. Maybe she’s built a life for herself on Earth and had no real interest in returning to Hell and causing more riots by telling her siblings, but oh, could she hold a grudge like no one. She was already pissed at him, and now she knew that he’s been keeping this enormous secret from her this entire time. That did _not_ bode well for him.

Especially given that he’d probably have to tell her about Lilith giving up her immortality 70 years ago and living out the rest of her days on Earth, abandoning her children once again—or why she’d abandoned them in the first place. She was back now, having died a month ago, and Lucifer pardoned her and gave her a seat in the Lords[1], but the truth couldn’t be rewritten. It was another secret he kept from her, he who never lied.

The latter was Lilith’s decision, and the former was the Princes’ _and_ hers. But he still bore responsibility. He couldn’t deny that. And he knew—he _knew_ that the way everyone treated the Lilim was incongruous. But if they learnt the truth right now, at Hell’s most vulnerable, everything could collapse. It wasn’t the time.

Lilim were already violent and unstable, but when you added a sudden discovery of souls and the possibility of powers to the mix, the riots would most likely restart and redouble. He couldn’t know for sure—he wasn’t Uriel—but he couldn’t risk it.

So, you see, despite her allegiances, Maze already knowing was dangerous.

He sighed and retreated from the Castle’s only balcony. All the demons have already shuffled off, but Beelzebub and Dagon were still in the meeting room, sitting in front of a laptop[2] and either watching porn or trying to figure out and _remember_ how Excel spreadsheets worked. It was hard to tell.

He marched over to them and said, ‘Dagon, do leave us. Prince Beelzebub and I have something important and lordly to discuss.’

Her chair screeched against the stone floor as she got up. She gave him a nod in lieu of a bow and left, taking her distinct fishy smell with her. Lucifer leant over Beelzebub’s shoulder and, to his horror, found an open and half-filled spreadsheet. He straightened up and announced, ‘Mazikeen knows.’

Beelzebub stared at him and drawled, ‘Knows _what_? I can’t read _your_ mind, Lucifer.’

‘What we did to the Lilim when they were born,’ he said darkly. The ambience was partially ruined by the flies he had to swat at. ‘And about souls and powers.’

‘So? She lives on Earth now; she’s none of my concern.’

‘None of your—do you know what that means? If any of the other demons find out, we might have a real rebellion on our hands!’ he shouted.

‘Then we must make sure they don’t,’ said Beelzebub as if that were the easiest and most obvious thing. ‘She’s not here, she’s not bonded to anyone, and we control every demon who goes to Earth. She can have powers if she wants. It’s not like she can regrow wings and swoop down from the sky.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘We made certain of that.’

Although… there was the business with self-actualisation. Lucifer has got his wings back. Nothing was impossible for celestials. His have been cut off his back by, ironically enough, Mazikeen, and the Lilim had theirs magically bound after birth—but who could tell how deep it could go?

‘Though the system is changing, Beelzebub. Why do you think I fought for Lilim to have chairs in the parliament? It’s slow, but it’s progress,’ he added. Because, despite popular belief, he did think about the Lilim quite often. Yes, the system worked, but it was a product of desperate measures sanctioned by a different Lucifer. One who wanted to fight his siblings in a war and didn’t care for the destruction of Earth.

‘And anyway, I was talking about the records.’

Everyone had a file. Everyone. And those files contained entries about any and all miracles and deeds performed by the demon. Littering a candy wrapper? Repairing a broken mug? Killing someone with the snap of one’s fingers? It was all in there. If Maze were able to do all that…

Beelzebub hummed. Avoiding that particular subject, she asked, ‘Who told her anyway? I’m guessing it wasn’t you.’

‘No, obviously it wasn’t me,’ he spat. ‘It was Crowley, trying to do a good thing and doing to her what I’d done to him. Setting her free. Because she wanted a soul, apparently.’

‘Right. Of course he did,’ she huffed, sliding down her chair. She was almost lying on it at this point. ‘And speaking of Crowley… Gabriel gave me some juicy news.’

‘Oh?’ Lucifer raised an eyebrow and leant against the table.

‘He’s an angel again, like you.’

‘Ah, no, that’s old news. He’s already told me.’ He took his mobile out of his pocket and shook it in front of her face.

She blinked and pursed her lips. Oh, she’s thought he didn’t know! Well, not this time. He was done with giving her the pleasure of knowing things first.

‘You might recall sending almost a dozen Cultists to Earth?’ he asked. She hummed noncommittally. ‘Well, they’re back and well-smitten. Waiting for bodies as we speak. I had to give them a whole lecture about keeping schtum and what will happen when they don’t, because he said he didn’t want anyone to know. Which is understandable, given that it would eventually spread to Heaven. That’s where the heart of the issue lies, I assume[3]. Anyway. He’s more trouble than he’s worth, but he did that. Him.’

Lucifer smiled almost proudly.

Beelzebub said, ‘I’m almost impressed.’ It, of course, meant she wasn’t impressed in the slightest. ‘You know it’s all on you, right? You came to him and told him about Rising and power and all that shite and wanted him to be King, and now you’re surprised he’s doing something and being trouble. Honestly, I’m having Heaven flashbacks.’

He frowned. She—might not be wrong. He did take credit for that, and rather loudly, too. Nonetheless, he asked, ‘What in the hell do you mean?’

It was about the Heaven thing.

She crossed her arms. ‘I’ll take this rare opportunity to remind you I’m your sister-in-law. I know things. You and Crowley? Trouble from the start, both of you.’

‘Excuse me, I’m not—’

‘Look around you,’ she said, spreading those arms for a change. ‘You made this happen. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking this computer and doing all the extra work I now have to do thanks to your _modernisation_. Also more trouble than it’s worth.’

She got up with the same screeching sound, slammed the laptop closed, and shoved it under her arm. At least she already knew the basics of how to use it thanks to Gabriel, Lucifer thought. He could show her the rest. She could be fast. Dagon may be the Lord of Files, but she was the Lord of _Paper_ Files. If she were in charge, nothing would get done, everything would develop viruses[4], and paperwork would only pile in both physical and digital form without going where it needed to.

‘I’ll allow that,’ Lucifer said. ‘And remember that the same rules apply to you as well. Don’t tell anyone about Crowley or the Secret.’

‘More Crowley craziness and rioting Lilim is the last thing I want,’ she said, and didn’t add _are you stupid_ , but it was very much implied. ‘It’s the last thing anyone wants. I’m with you on this one, Lord. But I’d be careful about changing too much, or they’ll think themselves powerful and break through that lock themselves if the stuff you told me is true.’

‘That wouldn’t be so bad though, now would it. If they discovered it themselves, I could tell them about self-actualisation and remind them they’re _half-Fallen_ and therefore it applies to them too. That would be the lesser of two evils—because evils are all we have; we’re in Hell.’

That would be the ideal case, really. If they were to discover the truth about themselves, that would be the path of least resistance. But if Maze were to self-actualise into having powers, her deeds and miracles would register in the records, and someone might start asking questions. Some Fallen who had no idea. Like Dagon. She always stuck her scaly nose into everything.

She was one of the biggest gossips in the entire realm and _couldn’t_ keep a secret. That was why she hadn’t been in on this from the get-go. She was capable of telling _angels_ —and if she thought that Lucifer didn’t know about those clandestine telephone calls, she was dead wrong.

He had about two weeks with the discorporated Cultists[5], but this was a ticking bomb. Bloody Crowley and his good bloody deeds and finally bloody standing up for himself.

And listen. Lucifer was glad for Maze. He liked her; she was his friend, erstwhile lover, and valued advisor. If anyone deserved to know, it was her. But now that she knew that she would not, in fact, permanently die when injured, she would probably fling herself into more dangerous situations and go even further to protect the ones she loved, knowing her. If she by some miracle didn’t perform a miracle or teleport somewhere, she might end up in the discorporation queue. Either way, Trouble would be afoot.

He seriously had to come back as soon as possible, even if it meant getting his arse kicked six ways to Sunday and getting discorporated himself. He was the King and thus could have that sorted in five minutes. That was the last thing he worried about. The first was keeping Hell stable and getting through the trial period without glitches that would make anyone want to unsubscribe.

* * *

1 She’s never regretted the decision to take her children’s wings, train them to be ruthless, soulless warriors, and leave them in Hell. If they couldn’t challenge the Fallen, they survived. If they didn’t care, they survived. And they filled up the ranks of Lucifer’s army. She believed that what she’d done was the right thing. But she had… other regrets. Giving up her immortality was one of them. Humanity wasn’t worth it. They were worse than demons sometimes. Eden was long gone. Her ring with a piece of stone from the Garden was long gone, on Lucifer’s finger of all places. Her children were still in Hell, and she couldn’t see them. She’d known that when she died, she’d be stuck in a loop somewhere or worse, Up There with the God who’d cast her out. Then there were the other regrets she’d collected over the 70 years of her mortal life.

Getting out of her loop and being assigned a chair in the new Infernal Parliament was certainly a surprise though. She was among the Fallen now. She was back in power and back among her children, some of whom would also get to be in power, she heard. It was almost dangerous how good a decision it turned out to be in the end. But Lucifer reassured her that he wouldn’t let her go to Heaven should she be able to, which, good. All good. All _bad_.[✿]

2 They had half a dozen of those now, taken from loops and fully concretised. It was a part of the Digital Reform Motion. The archives were going fully digital—with a bonus of some added torture that came with the process—and every demon was liable to obtain a computer, tablet, or smartphone by 2025. By that year, all forms, memos, and reports would be submitted through e-mail, like they were in Heaven. Probably. The motion was still in the process of being written and wouldn’t be passed for a while yet. Nothing important could be done quickly in Hell.[✿]

3 He was correct. Crowley didn’t care about the demons knowing. He was pretty sure they already thought he was an angel and never bothered to realise that just because he could summon Holy Fire and his staff, he didn’t necessarily have to be one. Heaven, though? Nopity-nope. He didn’t want any more of them to come knocking and ask him to come back. Or yell at him and tell him to go back to Hell.[✿]

4 Not that it wouldn’t do that anyway.[✿]

5 The queue at the Body Issuing Counter was usually that long, and as long as they were in it, they wouldn’t have a chance to tell their colleagues anything. Thank Satan. Literally.[✿]


	66. Yellow Alert

Hamaliel was two days behind on work. Not the supervise-their-angels kind of work—they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves, doing their jobs as commanded, and making decisions as deemed appropriate, unlike _some_ choirs.

(Cough—Powers—cough.)

That was a remnant of Raphael’s times, and they were glad for it. It meant they could spend less time directing the Virtues’ every move and more time speaking to angels in need and doing what was truly important, such as the survey they’ve been preparing or the slight reshuffling of heavenly organisation. However, all that has also kept them from their _actual_ work: supervising miracles and the planetary kind of celestial bodies.

With a sigh, they miracled up a glass of aloe vera juice and sat at their desk. 1,347 new notifications, their tablet said upon quick inspection. Holy espresso, wasn’t that something. They would have to go through each of them individually and take note of any potential cases of miracle overuse—which should be next in line to change, they thought, and wrote it down to propose at the next big meeting—or other noteworthy eventualities, but for now, they skimmed over them in search of truly urgent messages[1].

Among an unending sea of blue Class C miracles[2], they found two glaringly red Head Office memos. Those usually tended to count as urgent. They hovered a finger above the older one to read it, but, wait, did they spot a Class A? They haven’t seen one of those since Amenadiel’s son was born.

 _[Archangel Raphael] Smote eleven demons, manifested halo_ , the yellow-coloured message said. Huh. Looked like their old boss was being busy. Smiting—

Wait.

Smote eleven demons. Manifested halo. Archangel Raphael. That was—unusual.

Hamaliel certainly couldn’t recall seeing his name there, ever. Not since the Fall. Could this have something to do with his living on Earth and not hiding anymore?

They clicked on it and brought up his full record. There were quite a few Class Cs around that one, which was expectable. _Put up perception glamour. Hid ring box in pocket dimension. [14x] Transferred money from Jeff Bezos’ account. Transported shopping from West Hollywood, Los Angeles to Climping, Littlehampton. Hid mobile phone in pocket dimension_ —and so on. Nothing of import.

They took a sip of their drink and scrolled up the log with their left hand. There were more Cs and Bs, going back a week[3]. Sunday the 14th—wasn’t that the day Michael came to them and told them about the memories? The last registered miracle before that was a Class B from—

2,014,288 BC. _Healed Archangel Michael’s primary right wing._

That was around the time the War had ended and the rebelling angels had Fallen.

There was a two-million-year hiatus between Raphael’s— _Crowley’s_ miracles that began on the day of his Fall and suddenly ended on the day the memories of him returned with a simple _Summoned dressing gown_.

Interesting.

Hamaliel had a theory. To confirm that theory, they brought up Lucifer’s miracle log[4]. They scrolled up the brief list of his miracles, which went back two years, and found the same gap. The last entry before 2017 was likewise from 2,014,288 BC. It said, _Created light grenade, threw at angels_ [5] _._

In 2017, Lucifer had Risen, and since then, his sparingly used miracles have been registering in Heaven’s records. So, logically, this could only mean one thing.

Crowley had Risen as well.

They sucked in a breath and ran a hand through their braids. A hot tear slipped down their cheek, joined by more when they blinked—and then they burst out laughing. Tilting their head back, they looked at the star-speckled ceiling and spun in their chair.

Oh, it all made sense now. He’d hidden after the Fall, both from Hell and everyone’s memories of him, but something happened now that made him let go of the old pain and stop hiding. If the theory of self-actualisation was correct, he got over things, accepted it, _forgave_. He stepped out of the shadow and reclaimed his long-lost identity. He Rose. The Serpent of Eden, who valued knowledge and love over ignorance and lies, unlike the rest of the Fallen. The being who’s always despised violence and managed to prevent the final war completely by coincidence.

Ineffably so.

This was always meant to happen, Hamaliel thought.

The warmth spreading through and out of their body could probably power a whole solar system just then. One of those Crowley and they had built together.

He probably didn’t even realise it, knowing him, but he’s always been more powerful than he thought. He’s changed so much around here by simply being remembered. And being an angel once more? They could only imagine that.

They also really had to pay him that visit now.

Right. But first things first. They took a deep breath and wiped the delighted tears away. This was—this was huge. Did anyone else know? Probably not, or it would have been in the newspaper already. A quick sweep through the red memos told them that no such information was being passed around. Although Michael might be aware, seeing as she 1) went to Earth, 2) did not show up at yesterday’s meeting, and 3) had said she’d talk to him.

They chuckled. He wouldn’t want anyone to know, would he? Hiding was kind of his thing, and given how much has happened in the past two months, dealing with sudden, newfound angelness would make rather a mess of things. So much so that he’d smitten the demons who’d come looking for him despite _knowing_ that someone would inevitably notice[6].

And yes, they knew about that. The Cult of Crowley was a frequent holy watercooler gossip topic these days.

Nonetheless, this was precisely the kind of thing they’d promised to report immediately. But if Michael knew… well, that was that then. They wouldn’t tell their Virtues—it wasn’t like anyone else had access to the Archangels’ miracle logs and thus notice it—because that had to happen on his terms, and a flock of overexcited angels landing in his backyard was probably the last thing he wanted or needed right now. But they’d tell her.

As a formality. And perhaps as an excuse to talk to her again.

They were a little worried about her, to be honest.

And then they’d visit Crowley and get the actual story rather than just their guesses and deductions. They missed him, now that they had the memories. A lot. His sense of humour and weird ideas, too. And maybe, just maybe, they might even bring him back. An angel could hope.

They grabbed the tablet and flew back to the Palace. The clerk downstairs told them that Michael wasn’t in her office, so they changed course and headed for her private residence. The inside of that building was another thing they haven’t seen since the War. Or, well, shortly after the War.

They’d still been talking then.

Hamaliel landed on the balcony and knocked on the glass door. An unmistakably Archangelic aura moved somewhere inside and then slowly approached the door, soon revealing Michael’s white-clad figure. What they did _not_ expect to see was the source of the whiteness, namely a pair of leggings and a jumper dress. What they expected even less was the bronzish gold bruise on her cheek and her scraped knuckles. Also, her hair was tied in a simple _bun_.

‘Hamaliel,’ she said with an edge of surprise to her voice. She quickly glanced at her own attire. ‘I apologise for being—underdressed. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone.’

Yes. For her, she _was_ underdressed. It suited her better, Hamaliel thought.

‘I can come back later, Prince Michael,’ they said. ‘But you said to inform you of anything significant at once, and this is very significant. It concerns the demon Crowley. Or should I say _former_ demon?’

They showed her the Class A miracle alert. Michael looked at it, then at them, and then somewhere into the middle distance. She slightly pursed her lips and flexed her blood-stained knuckles. They were right, then. She knew.

‘Alright, come in,’ she said, stepping aside. ‘He’s back in the records, then?’

‘Yes. This is from two days ago, but I only noticed it today. The log dates back to last Sunday,’ they confirmed. ‘He’s Risen, hasn’t he? He became an angel again on the day we remembered.’

Michael beckoned them to a sofa. They sat down and looked around. For a sitting room, it was barely furnished. Not a spot of greenery in sight, only a desk with a chair, this sofa, a bookcase, and a few weapons hanging on the wall in lieu of decorations. It really _could_ do with a plant. Plants made anywhere feel a bit more like home.

Maybe they could give her one of theirs.

‘He has,’ Michael said wistfully as she sat down. ‘I’ve seen him.’

‘May I ask, the bruises—’

‘Oh, I did raise a sword against him in a foolish plan to bring him back,’ she said, glancing at her hands. ‘But no, I did this, and Gabriel did the rest. We both needed to blow off some steam, but his reaction to our brother’s Uprising was—fiercer.’

They turned the tablet off and laid it aside. The formalities could wait. They had Questions.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked. ‘You can talk to me. Communication is key, remember? And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about anything. Not even that I’ve seen you with your hair in a quick, messy bun.’

Her lips briefly stretched in a smile. She didn’t say anything for a while, but they didn’t push her.

‘I’m not alright,’ she said eventually. ‘I hurt him. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I want to fix things, I _need_ to fix things, but I don’t know where to start because I don’t know how to deal with all this pain myself. All these feelings. And I realised that I’ve pushed everyone away and have no one but my siblings, and I fucked things up even with most of them. I am in charge of Heaven, and yet I am alone.’

* * *

1 Their entire inbox was colour-coded, precisely because of the number of messages they received. Purple was for Hell-related matters, blue, green, and yellow for different types of miracles, orange for reports, red for Head Office memos, and pink for private communication. The notifications cleverly sorted themselves. It was brilliant. Some others copied that system from them, but really, it should be a Heaven-wide thing, they thought. Saved a lot of time, colour-coding.[✿]

2 Miracles were categorised into three classes—A, B, and C—based on their general impact and difficulty in performing. Class C miracles were the simplest ones, often performed for personal gain and benefit. Some called them ‘frivolous’. Class B ones were those planetary agents and Virtues were sent to do and comprised small blessings, teleportation, healing, miracling small things into existence, and influencing land or weather. Class A miracles were the large-scale ones, and the least common: smiting, creation, long-distance teleportation, travelling between universes, and anything else that required an angel’s full power.[✿]

3 They wouldn’t normally see those, of course. They only got notifications about their Virtues’ miracles, who got notifications about everyone else’s—other than the Archangels’, because they didn’t need supervising (their words). Class A miracles, however? They always saw those, no matter who performed them, archangel to Archangel.[✿]

4 He was still written down as Archangel Samael. All Fallen were still in the records somewhere, under their angelic names; their logs were merely discontinued. One might wonder why they were never deleted, at which point one might recall the possibility of Rising and the ineffability of it all.[✿]

5 It was the cause of Michael’s wing injury, which Crowley then fixed. He’s been flying back and forth, healing angels on both sides, and never really fighting anyone, but in Michael’s books, he was with Lucifer, and that was that. He was the enemy now. The wing hurt something fierce—a few primaries were missing!—so she allowed him to heal it, but she still picked up her sword right after and brought him to his knees.

She was _this_ close from gritting her teeth and bearing the pain just so she could take advantage of a clear shot at Lucifer, though, and in another universe, perhaps that was what happened. Her wing might never have healed properly…[✿]

6 “It probably showed on the celestial radar, but it’s fine,” Crowley had said. “Amenadiel could’ve done that,” Crowley had said. Well, he was wrong. It did _not_ go unnoticed. He was damn lucky that the one angel who could notice was his logical once-best friend, though, and not one of the chatty Virtues or someone else entirely. If it were anyone else, he’d be in some serious trouble. He’d be in _more_ trouble than he already _was_.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Hamaliel is also supposed to be the patron of vegetation and harvest, besides all those other things I mentioned before—logic, communication, teaching, perseverance... no wonder Crowley liked them. They're plant buddies. And they're the angel of Virgo, so to any Virgos here, they're basically your protector! (Every zodiac sign has two guardian angels, did you know? The second one for Virgo is Metatron, hehe. And mine (Aries) are Ariel and Malahidael.) (Yeahhh, I've always kind of been interested in angels and supernatural things and I love lore—especially combining it with canon Lucifer & GO material here. Maybe you noticed.) 
> 
> Anyway. I like this angel a lot.


	67. I Can Try

‘You can’t fight violence with more violence and pain with more pain, Michael,’ was the first thing Hamaliel said, holding Michael’s gaze. They studiously ignored the bruise under her left eye, but she could tell they were still thinking about it. She was too. Gabriel had stopped at that punch, but at that moment, she glimpsed real anger in his eyes.

‘It’s a mistake a lot of people make,’ they continued. ‘Here, in Hell, on Earth… They think they must wage a war to establish peace, but then there’s just another war, and the pain never ends. War—the Horseperson—thrives and feeds on it.’

Michael blinked. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘You spent yesterday in the gym, haven’t you? And then you… fought with Gabriel?’ She nodded, though it was almost two days, really. ‘That’s fighting pain with more pain instead of letting yourself heal properly.’

‘When I need to let off excess energy and emotions, I fight. It’s what I do,’ she said. She was God’s Warrior. Fighting was her Function. You could fight with words, yes, but she was practically born with a sword in her hand. What else was there?

Hamaliel took the kind of deep breath that tended to be accompanied by an inner command of _be patient_. Not that angels other than Gabriel were anything but. ‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ they said, ‘but physical pain—’ they glanced at her hands again— ‘is a temporary solution. You can’t avoid your thoughts forever. I think you know that.’

‘Forgetting isn’t an option anymore,’ she conceded.

‘No. All the bad stuff will dissipate eventually, but you have to let yourself feel it first. The good, too. I don’t know what you said to him, but if you want to make amends, don’t think of the Fall, the War, the things that happened after. Remember _Raphael_ , the old him. The angel you miss despite betraying and feeling betrayed.’

‘How do you even know—’

They smirked, but not unkindly. ‘It’s kind of obvious.’

Yeah. Everyone knew the circumstances of his Fall around here. They just didn’t talk about it. And Hamaliel could probably read her aura. She tucked her wings closer and looked straight ahead, at her collection of swords.

‘Amenadiel has told me almost the same thing.’

‘Must be true then,’ they said, smiling. ‘He ah, knows too? And did you say something about trying to bring Crowley back?’

There was a hopeful spark in their eyes. Michael was loath to crush it. ‘Amenadiel held me back from striking and discorporating him when he refused to return of his own free will.’

‘If he discorporated, he’d end up—right. Clever sneaky plan.’ They let out an amused snort, but their face quickly tensed. ‘It’s not a very smart thing to do though, is it, taking away his choice from him? If he doesn’t wish to come back—it’s a pity though. He could do so much good here. He’s just the one we need.’

‘He belongs with us, being an angel again,’ Michael agreed. She sighed and looked at her hands. ‘It’s funny, one might think that because he’s no longer Fallen, the guilt would abate. But it didn’t.’

‘It doesn’t change the past, only the present,’ Hamaliel pointed out. Michael looked up and found them playing with a braid. ‘I told you last time, Michael—the past can’t be altered; it’s over and done with. Our current actions matter. Oh, I wanted to ask him to come back as well, but if he wants to remain on Earth, I won’t force him. We can travel between dimensions, so that’s hardly an obstacle, is it? If you want to be siblings again, or if he and I want to be friends again, we must work with that.’

They might have a point, Michael thought. It took a second to get to Earth. Amenadiel of all angels insisted on living there and seemed to be happy there. And it wasn’t about to end anytime soon, apparently, so it was entirely possible for an angel to—stay.

Michael snorted. Elegantly, like she did everything. ‘He told me that, and I quote, the moment shit gets real, I revert to my primal nature. He was—not wrong. Schemes and fighting are the first things that come to mind, instinctively.’

‘Then you have to work on being conscious of your thoughts. Realise when that happens and actively try to counter it. Control your emotions.’

‘That’s easily said,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I always know what I’m doing. I believe it’s right, and I fight for what is right. Only it turns out that I might _not_ always be right, despite being an angel. We cannot, by definition, do wrong, and demons cannot do right, isn’t that so? But the truth may lay elsewhere. Look at Crowley and Aziraphale.’

‘Nothing’s ever black and white. That’s the beauty of free will. We won’t ever really understand it; we just have to learn to try to make the right decisions according to what _we_ think, not what we think _God_ wants us to think. I think. Don’t overthink it.’

That was five times they said the word _think_. Michael wasn’t entirely following. All this—philosophy was for humans. She cleared her throat and instead said, ‘Is this what therapy looks like? Amenadiel said I should go to therapy. I think it’s ridiculous; I’m an _angel_.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘But talking like this feels nice.’

‘You said you were alone,’ Hamaliel noted. ‘Do you have no one to talk to? Azrael? Uriel? Not to be presumptuous, of course—’

‘Oh, I think we’ve crossed and burnt that line. I would certainly like to try to, at least in private,’ she said before they could even finish that sentence. ‘In private, I’m not Prince Michael, only Michael, your… friend.’

They used to be that once. They almost, _almost_ could have been more, too.

They smiled, leant back, and fixed their gaze on the ceiling. ‘We used to go to the sea, do you remember? And talk about your siblings and other random things for _hours_. To be honest, I miss that. I miss the old Heaven. Raph. You. Things were simpler back then. It’s all too bureaucratic now.’

‘But you haven’t changed,’ she noted. ‘Even when you forgot, you haven’t turned cold.’

‘We may have forgotten the specific memories, but not how things were. He trained us practically from fledgelings. Not to brag, because that isn’t very angelic, is it, but our choir has always been the most efficient and independent—and do you know why? He taught us about choices and doing more than just blindly following orders. It took more than obedience to be Virtuous and help people.’

‘That is precisely what I should probably learn,’ Michael said. ‘But it’s difficult.’

‘Alright.’ They breathed in and out, making a decision. They folded their legs on the sofa and faced her, hands on their knees. ‘Have you tried meditation? It’s an excellent way of finding peace, connecting to God, and sorting through your own thoughts and feelings.’

‘Not in a long time,’ she admitted. Meditation. She’d told Gabriel to try it sometime the other day, but how long has it been since she prayed or took a quiet moment for herself?

‘I have enormous amounts of work,’ they said, ‘so after I do what I need to, I always sit down between my plants and relax for a while. Clear my mind of all the paperwork and miracle notifications. Sometimes I drink green tea or aloe. Which brings me to a small personal note: you really need some plants.’

Michael looked around her sitting room. She liked it the way it was. ‘Plants? Why? We aren’t human.’

Amenadiel had a garden though. Crowley did too, she’s heard.

They shrugged. ‘They make a bare room feel nicer. And if you want to learn to care for something, plants are a good place to start. The more love you pour into them, the more they grow and give you love back[1].’

‘That’s a good thing, right?’ she mused. ‘Plants. Alright. Crowley has plants. I suppose I could try.’

‘I’ll bring you some if you want,’ they offered. ‘Now. Get your legs up like me. Go on.’ Michael did, copying their position. Their knees nearly touched. Hamaliel gestured at her hands and then held up their own for her to take. ‘I’m not much of a healer, but I can try. This? Punching things and/or angels? You’re only hurting yourself more.’

Their hands were warm. Very, very warm.

‘Close your eyes, Michael,’ they said. ‘Love and warmth. You said you wanted to bring that back to Heaven—but where you start is with yourself. You’re an angel. Feel it streaming through you. Breathe. Get rid of the negative thoughts. Think back on your actions and try to find the answers. Why? What can you do better? How do you find the balance between God’s Warrior and the messenger of Her light and love? The old Michael that I used to know, find her again.’

She breathed in. Breathed out. Her physical eyes were closed, but she opened the metaphysical ones instead and saw wisps of energy surrounding her hands and Hamaliel’s blue jay wings folded behind their back. Their halo shone bright around their head. The worst of the wounds closed, if not healed completely. The warmth had a taste of peace and courage.

She knew why she’d done what she’d done and that it probably wasn’t the best course of action. She knew that she had to give everything and everyone time, including Gabriel. She knew that if she focused on Heaven and asked the other angels what they thought instead of overlooking them, she’d find purpose again and take her mind off the unpleasant memories. But she needed to accept them, not fight them, Hamaliel said. Amenadiel too. She should focus on the positive. On why she wanted to make amends in the first place. She wasn’t going to lie—anymore. It was partly for—selfish reasons. It was about her, not really about Crowley, let alone about _Lucifer_.

She should probably face him too at one point or another.

They betrayed her, they blasphemed—but did they really? They’d Risen. There was a reason for their Fall as much as there was a reason why the rest of them didn’t Fall. If she wished for forgiveness, she should try to forgive _them_. Or think about why she thought she couldn’t. The past was the past. How she made up for it mattered. They said that the last time, didn’t they?

Crowley has clearly got over the past and made his own path. An angel using his own chosen name and living on Earth. Even _Gabriel_ has sorted things out with Beelzebub, his biggest regret and ghost of the past. And Amenadiel and Azrael have forgiven Lucifer and Crowley both.

The war memory popped up again. It kept haunting her, over and over, and she tried to burn it away, over and over. But that wasn’t the way, apparently. Find a good one, Hamaliel said. From Before. They mentioned the sea. There was one with Crowley, Azrael, and Lucifer. They were racing each other above the water and grazing it with the tips of their wings, sometimes sending sprays of water at those behind them. She didn’t remember who won.

She recalled another one, this time with Hamaliel, Ariel, and some others. They were just sitting in the sand and talking. She couldn’t remember the last time she casually conversed with someone who wasn’t her sibling outside of a meeting before last week.

‘As I said, I’m not much of a healer[2], but the bruises aren’t so obvious anymore,’ Hamaliel said. Michael opened her eyes. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She didn’t let go of their hands just yet. ‘I do feel better.’

‘You feel a touch calmer to me,’ they observed. ‘Practise this more often. Sit with your eyes closed and think. Or go for a run or a few laps in the air sometimes. And you can always talk to me.’

‘I’d like to. I haven’t realised how much I missed it until now. You’re kind. You’re not like the rest of the higher-ups here, cold and emotionally stunted. I should know.’

‘Well, you’re starting to work on it. Maybe Gabriel will be next,’ they grinned. The glow of their halo didn’t diminish, and they looked utterly, angelically beautiful.

Michael brought their soft, warm hands to her lips. She pressed a quick kiss against the knuckles. ‘Speaking of a past we can’t undo, there is one more thing I regret.’

‘I know.’ They gave her a sad smile and brushed their hand against her cheek. They dropped it just as quickly. ‘But I’ll be honest with you, Michael. I liked you. I thought—you know, I thought it could work. We spent a lot of time together, what with you being Raph’s sister, and it was nice. An unlikely connection. But I waited for you, and waited, and waited. You never said or did anything. And you’re an Archangel, I couldn’t just—I wasn’t like Gabriel’s bold Seraph. Perhaps I was a little foolish too.

‘Then the War happened. Nothing was the same anymore. I still waited, but you changed too. We all did. We stopped talking altogether eventually, and I let go, Michael. I got over you. It’s been two million years, and that, whatever it was, is a thing of the past.’

‘I understand,’ Michael said. ‘I fought too hard for the wrong things and didn’t fight hard enough for the right ones.’

‘I’d like us to try to be friends again, though,’ they offered. ‘I’d like to help you—and Heaven—fight for the right things this time.’

Michael gave them a thin but sincere smile. That was good. That meant something. She said, ‘Alright. I’d like that too.’

* * *

1 Needless to say, their idea of plant care was vastly different from Crowley’s.[✿]

2 Although it may have been Raphael’s domain, all angels could do some basic healing. It was just that it was easier to do with mortals, but even so, it exhausted much of one’s energy. Healing another angel, whose wounds were also inflicted by another celestial no less, was no easy task for a non-healer. Hamaliel was much better at healing plants. But still, they could try.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Virtues are sometimes relied on for courage and strength. They preside over conversions and support penitent sinners who seek to correct their defects.” — [Guardian Angel](https://guardianangel.cloudaccess.host/virtues-angels/)
> 
> (That website has lots of useful info on different choirs so if you ever need it for writing, check it out!)


	68. Unpredictable

Crowley left Los Angeles in the middle of the night and popped into existence in front of the cottage shortly after 10 a.m. British Summer Time.

It was Monday. Maze had snuck off in the ungodly hours of the previous morning, as demons tended to, and hasn’t returned yet. Lucifer hasn’t called him back. It was a little worrisome. Well, actually, both of those not-entirely-separate events were worrisome. So was the fact that he couldn’t really tell Amenadiel about it and thus kept being bugged about whether he was alright.

He didn’t know how to answer that question, to be honest.

Being an angel, his brother could sense that he’d been bothered about _something_ though, so he’d made up his mind and taken him on a sightseeing tour in hopes of both taking his mind off it and making him talk about it. It’d been ridiculous. He’d been ridiculous. And mostly, not keeping his mouth shut had led to enough problems already, thank you very much, so Crowley hadn’t said anything. He’d let Maze handle this on her own terms, lest he accidentally restart Armageddon or something.

They’d, naturally, ended up at LUX again. He’d made Amenadiel join him in drinking a glass or three of wine. He’d also got Chloe, Ella, Linda, and Maze’s numbers from him and told him to pass his to them, just in case. But then it’d been adios Los Angeles because 1), he still wasn’t interested in proper therapy, no thank you, 2) as it happened, anyone could find him there too, 3) he’s had enough of Amenadiel to last a few years[1], 4) Aziraphale has quite passively but persistently been demanding to know what was going on, and 5) he really just missed Aziraphale.

So he sobered up— _before_ the miracle this time—and thought himself back home[2].

Inside, Aziraphale immediately perked up. Feeling that wave of surprised excitement flood his brain, Crowley gave the air a lopsided smile and sauntered into the garden through the little gate.

Instead of the back door, he headed straight for the watermelons by the shed. They should be ripe by now, he thought. It wasn’t a suggestion. Giving the fruits a stern glare, he picked them up and rid them of dirt with a quick miracle at the same time. Carrying one under each arm, he went round the garden. When satisfied to find that the green bastards weren’t slacking, he circled back to the door.

Which was held open by an angel not wearing any of the new clothes and beaming like the bloody sun.

‘Crowley,’ he said, eyes wide and still disbelieving. ‘You’re back.’

‘Hey, angel,’ Crowley said, beaming back despite himself. ‘I brought something. Catch.’

He threw him one of the melons as easily as if it were an orange, and Aziraphale caught it in the same manner, though slightly more befuddled. But he quickly walked the mental path and arrived at destination: snack, at which point he gave the melon a look that was practically a toned-down version of the one he’s just given Crowley.

Crowley rolled his eyes affectionately. Aziraphale and his food, honestly[3].

Still thinking of watermelon snacks, he walked inside and let Crowley in. He placed the melon on the kitchen worktop. Crowley did the same, and then, as soon as his arms were free, wrapped Aziraphale in a lanky-armed embrace. He breathed in his scent and soaked in his calm love.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been an arsehole to you in the past week, Aziraphale,’ he said, cheek pressed against his. ‘You were right. Can’t outrun my past. It just—it got to me, all this stuff with my siblings and, y’know. Rising.’

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, my dear. I can’t—well, I wanted to say I can’t imagine what it must be like to be in your skin, but I can, in fact. Imagine, you see. I felt it. It’s—it’s perfectly alright.’

‘Nah, just say it. I’m a shit bondmate, hiding stuff and blocking the connection on purpose.’ He pulled away and looked him in the eye. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses because it had been night a few minutes ago, so he could read Aziraphale reading him.

Aziraphale sighed and wrung his hands. ‘No, Crowley. We’ve known each other for over 6000 years and come to know each other perfectly well over the years, but we still spent most days and even years apart. A bond doesn’t really allow that. You need your privacy—as do I. Everyone does. There still are things we haven’t told each other[4]. Blocking each other from seeing our thoughts is the equivalent of running to our respective flats and calming down, and it’s fine.’ He scrunched his nose in preparation for what he was about to say next. ‘Gabriel was right. It will take some adjusting.’

Crowley released a breath he’s been holding. Aziraphale meant what he said. Aziraphale was also right. He gave himself the same justification the other day.

‘Ngh. I don’t deserve you, angel.’

‘Oh, but I think you do,’ he said, a mischievous spark in his eyes. He patted his bum. ‘Now, how about I carve us some watermelon and you tell me what happened with Mazikeen.’

Crowley’s quick-to-panic, conclusion-jumping mind panicked and remembered that awkward moment on the dancefloor. ‘Wh—what do you mean, nothing happened—’

‘Not _that_ ,’ Aziraphale said. Apparently, he knew about it. ‘Although I can see why she wants a piece of this. No, I meant when you said you’d tell me later and haven’t checked in until you unexpectedly appeared back in our garden.’

His voice held an accusatory air beneath its primness. Rightfully so. However, Crowley was still processing the previous sentence. He blinked slowly. Aziraphale was rummaging through the cutlery drawer for a large enough knife. Crowley turned to him and said, ‘Looks like I’m already rubbing off on your vocabulary.’

He found the utensil and slowly turned his head Crowley’s way. ‘Er, what?’

‘Never mind.’ He cleared his throat and leant against the worktop. ‘I er—remember when Lucifer came here, told me about Rising, and got us into this whole mess?’

‘Vividly. I still remember the crumpets he finished off. I’ve had _one_!’

‘Sure, focus on that,’ he murmured. Louder, he said, ‘Yeah, so I’ve gone and done the same to her. Maze. Might be the start of the end of the world if it goes—wrong.’ He gripped the edge of the worktop. He didn’t want to even begin to think about it. ‘I did get why Lucifer did it though, at least. He meant well. I guess that’s some consolation, that at least I meant well too, right?’

Aziraphale paused in trying to cut the smaller melon in two. His distress rates went up, possibly because Crowley’s did too despite him being clear about not wanting to think about it. ‘What on Earth are you talking about? The end of the _world_? After everything we’ve…’ He trailed off.

‘To be fair, it was all accidental too, last time,’ he said.

‘Well. What did you do, then, you foolish snake?’ Aziraphale asked, traces of the old fretfulness and caution making an appearance again. The knife he was holding didn’t help. Old habits died hard, and these were some truly ancient ones.

Crowley was fairly certain he already knew. ‘I told her the truth about her and the Lilim,’ he said. A lump decided to form itself in his throat. ‘They’re not actually demons, y’know. They’re half-Fallen and half-human, _very_ powerful, but they were lied to. They were told they didn’t have souls or powers or wings so they could be kept in check[5]. I helped. Kind of. Involuntarily. I er. I gave Lucifer the sigil and spell for permanently removing a baby’s unfledged wings.’ He idly scratched the back of his neck. ‘And I told her about that, because she’s been wanting a soul and she was in pain, and you know me, I could never bear to see someone suffer! And now that urge to help is even stronger! And with this self-actualisation business, well. She can help herself now.’

‘You did a _good thing_ , Crowley,’ Aziraphale said, clearly touched. He dropped the knife and put a hand over his heart. ‘Oh, that’s very kind of you.’ Then he registered the rest of that monologue and frowned. ‘They took their _wings_? How awful. And you _helped_? Crowley, you—’

‘Involuntarily, angel!’ he shouted before he could get angry with him. ‘I was forced! Lilith and the Princes wanted that, not me. I was against it. But I couldn’t say or do anything because that would _also_ lead to revealing who I was—Lucifer’d threatened me with that, by the way, and never seeing Earth again—so I, tff. Turned a blind eye and kept the secret. Until now.’

‘Well, it was Hell. You probably had no choice,’ he conceded but didn’t stop frowning. The entire situation reminded Crowley of all the previous times they’ve discussed something he had to do for Hell. Then the frowned morphed into a puzzled one. ‘What is so bad about her knowing this, though? It’s clearly the right thing.’

‘Not if she tells someone, shows up in Hell…’ he began, but that was the end of his mental list. His expression undoubtedly darkened. ‘Then they’d all know, and God knows what they’d do. They’d probably rebel, big time. It’s like when everyone learnt about me, _including me_ , but _worse_.’

And they still didn’t know about the angel thing. Here was hoping that Lucifer had given the discorporated demons a speech and that Michael would keep her mouth shut[6]. And that he wouldn’t get discorporated sometime in the immediate future.

Wait. He’s told Maze that she could get discorporated and survive. If that happened, she’d end up in the queue. They all knew her Down There. They’d talk. They’d know too, just like angels would have known had Michael managed to discorporate _him_.

‘Fuck,’ he groaned. ‘She could get discorporated, too, doesn’t even have to tell anyone. She’s been careful not to die ‘cos she thought that was _it_ , but now—yep, we’re probably doomed.’

‘Oh, _Crowley_.’ Aziraphale closed the distance between them. He took his hands. ‘I’m sure you’re being overdramatic. Yes. No such thing will happen. There won’t be a war. There _can’t_ be a war, not after all this.’ He chuckled nervously and vaguely gestured around the room with one hand. ‘The Almighty wouldn’t have bothered stopping Armageddon the first time around if it were meant to happen a year later anyway.’

He was reassuring himself, but at his core, he was just as anxious as Crowley. Who could honestly tell what the Almighty was planning? So far, life post-Armageddoff hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park, more so in the past two months.

‘Adam won’t allow it, anyway,’ he added, nodding resolutely. ‘A fight between demons doesn’t have to mean angels would get involved.’

‘I hope you’re right, angel. But seriously, Cambions can be just as powerful as Nephilim if they gain powers. That’s just as powerful as Adam. They’d make short work of the Fallen and come for Earth and Heaven next. I mean, most are happy with their day-to-day jobs in the loops or wherever and don’t have much in the way of imagination, but they’re violent and unpredictable. No one can possibly know what they’d do.’

And if they did come, it might just take the combined power of Adam and all the Archangels to stop them. There were _millions_ of them.

Maybe Crowley had been wrong about the Big One. It might not be all of them versus humanity; it might be all of them versus the Lilim. The eight of them, together with Beelzebub and Aziraphale, could take them, he had no doubt, if they stood _together_ instead of against each other. The Archangels all held immense power, and that power multiplied when they joined forces. That was why Lucifer and he hadn’t stood a chance, two against five. If they stood in a perfect heptagram, well. It would be pretty epic, Crowley thought, despite himself.

He also prayed for that not to have to happen, because with their issues, it would absolutely not work, probably not even in a crisis.

‘Except for Uriel,’ Aziraphale offered, bringing him back to Earth. It left a bitter taste on his tongue. Crowley could tell.

‘Hng, you’re right. Uriel. But they’re in the wind, and they won’t want to talk to me _or_ Lucifer. I don’t want to talk to them. Michael might, but I don’t want to talk to her either right now.’ Crowley cringed. Aziraphale hummed in sympathy. ‘And anyway, Heaven doesn’t know either. Too dangerous. Uriel knowing—pff, they’d use that knowledge to trigger the exact sequence of events that would _start_ the war.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Aziraphale said. ‘Well, isn’t this a bit of a pickle.’

‘I hope _you’re_ right and nothing will happen[7]. Maze is oddly sensible for a demon, and that’s a good thing. And I warned Luci. But he hasn’t rung back yet. Ohh, fuck. Fuck. Try to be an angel and do a good thing—’

He dug into his pocket and felt for the box still hidden there. ‘Well. No time better than the present, I suppose. Got one more thing for you.’ He closed his fingers around it and took it out. Aziraphale looked at it with bated breath.

‘Aziraphale, will you be my husband even in the human way, for better or for worse, on our own side from now until eternity because Death definitely won’t part us unless it’s for, like, a friendly-Archangels-only brunch or something?’ he blurted out, and then opened the box. In it sat two simple golden bands that had been plain on purchase but now bore matching etchings of a feather.

Aziraphale opened and quickly closed his mouth. He licked his lips, which then settled on a smile. ‘My _dear_ ,’ he said. ‘Oh, these are lovely. I knew, though, of course.’

‘You—what?’

‘You’re not as good at keeping secrets from me as you think, Crowley. You only thought about the rings ten times yesterday,’ he said, amused.

‘Bugger,’ said Crowley. ‘I thought I had it.’

‘The effort is appreciated.’ Aziraphale patted his arm. ‘And it’s such a wonderful gesture. Of course I will, you silly de—err. You. You fiend.’

‘I’m still a bit iffy about the word _angel_ , but you can say it. Not a demon anymore, am I?’ Crowley snorted. He took the ring intended for Aziraphale and slid it on his left ring finger. ‘There.’

Aziraphale looked at his hand in wonder, mouth slightly parted, and ran a finger over the soft engraving.

Then he took the other ring and asked, ‘Will you, Crowley, be my husband, wife, spouse, or anything in between for the entire world to see, apocalypses and wars be damned, from now until eternity?’

‘Sure, angel,’ he said, offering his hand as well. ‘Was my idea after all. And that sounded way too prepared.’

‘You wanted to say it and I could hear it. We’re _linked_ ,’ he said, endearingly petulant, as he fixed the ring on Crowley’s slender hand. ‘You know that. Joint thoughts. It’s hard to come up with something original. And stop it with the smirk, you.’

‘Nah,’ croaked Crowley. He took Aziraphale’s newly-beringed hand and pressed a kiss against his open palm. He closed it and clasped his hands around it. ‘You love it. Now! Let’s see if I grew an edible melon and put it in a liquidiser with some vodka; we need to celebrate-slash-forget about the Hell thing.’

* * *

1 They’ve never been each other’s favourite sibling, and after a few days, you really remembered why. Amenadiel was a little too uptight and too cheerful and supportive at the same time, which was an odd combination of traits to achieve, but here he was. He wasn’t much fun, he always seemed to think to know what was good for Crowley, he was properly, angelically sanctimonious at times… and then there was the joy at his Rising and the fact they had that in common. In his mind, it amounted to a token of eternal kinship. Crowley didn’t think so. They were siblings, and that was a thing that happened to them both—and Lucifer—but that didn’t mean they suddenly had to be all chummy because of it. He’d come to him for advice, he’d got some, and now it was time to go back to living their separate lives. Amenadiel had been there when Michael had struck him down, after all. He’d forgiven him, but he wasn’t forgetting it.[✿]

2 Up in Heaven, Hamaliel, who’d adjusted the settings inform them of any Class B miracles performed by “Archangel Raphael” as well, got a ping and a green-coloured message. It was purely out of professional curiosity. They weren’t trying to snoop or anything.[✿]

3 That’s why he picked them up though. To see that look. He could have just as easily done it himself if he fancied fresh watermelon for breakfast, but it wouldn’t be the same. Aziraphale would probably give him odd looks and sighs for three days. But if Crowley did the thing? Oh, how delightful! They both knew about this pattern, pretended not to, and followed it without fail.[✿]

4 _We know almost nothing of our separate past in Heaven_ , he thought under those words. Crowley picked up on it. He agreed. Neither of them was keen on talking about it yet, and that was perfectly fine. Even if Aziraphale knew more about Crowley than he did about Aziraphale.[✿]

5 Aziraphale knew parts of this but he, too, has never given the true nature of Lesser Demons much thought. He’s been rather more preoccupied with one certain Greater Demon over the centuries.[✿]

6 She hadn’t. He should be hoping that Gabriel and Beelzebub would keep their mouths shut at this point, but he didn’t know that.[✿]

7 Knowing precisely what was happening, God shook Her head in amused disbelief. Crowley was smarter than that. He’d said it himself—demons had very limited imagination. Where Adam Young could warp reality, it was thanks to his humanly upbringing and penchant for everything creative. The Lilim could, technically, gain the same power should they believe and imagine, yes, but that was unlikely to happen to more than a few individuals. The rest would be likely not to develop abilities at all or use them for useless purposes, such as self-filled reports or perpetually warm coffee, as most Fallen did. They might rebel, yes, but it would hardly be any more dramatic than the last mutiny.

She enjoyed observing the various twists and turns of Her children’s journey on Earth, though, and thus didn’t deign to tell any of them any of that. Putting Adam in Crowley’s path again had been enough pushing in the right direction for this decade. Anyway—the idea with the heptagram was not entirely off the mark, generally speaking.[✿]


	69. No Matter What

The watermelon knew what was good for it and turned out to be delicious, both as a snack and a smoothie that was only about fifty per cent smoothie and made up the remaining fifty per cent with vodka, a genuine Russian article purchased by Crowley sometime during the Cold War. Its second half and bigger comrade were put in the fridge, right next to the cucumbers and some milk that wisely chose to ignore its best before date and remain fresh for as long as needed.

But that wasn’t the point, only more of a side note. The point was, hours later, they were spread out on Crowley’s leather sofa in what was supposed to be Crowley’s room, drinking that smoothie and watching an episode of _Poirot_ [1], but Crowley still couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways everything could go to shit. 

Because with his recent track record, this couldn’t be the end of it.

Sure, maybe the thing with Maze wasn’t a big deal at all and he was just being his usual overdramatic self. But there still was a suspicious absence of angels in his backyard and a dozen demons that knew about his angelic condition. All he’d wanted was to be left alone with his angel and worry about plants and nosey neighbours—but so far, that dream has been unattainable. They’d got a few months, but then Lucifer mucked it all up and dragged them back into the family drama.

Even Adam, the living reminder of the Apocalypse, had shown up. Ironically enough, that had probably been the least unpleasant reunion right next to Azrael—who was the living personification of Death, for Heaven’s sake! Adam was just a kid. He was smart and curious and reminded him of Lucifer when he was young. Crowley liked him. He’s never tried to stab him with a sword, for one. And he’d given Aziraphale back his body at the air base, which was much appreciated.

Crowley liked that body. It was just soft and worn enough for Aziraphale. Much better than the original model, which he’d undoubtedly get again should he go down the official, queue-y, paperwork-y road.

He snuggled closer to him—though he’d deny the use of that word—and closed his eyes, the murder mystery on screen deliberately ignored. He’s seen the entire series before anyway.

‘Something on your mind, dear?’ Aziraphale asked politely, knowing well what he was thinking about. Crowley, in turn, knew that he was paying close attention to the plot and trying to figure out who did the murdering. He wasn’t very good at it, because he was wrong[2].

_Now you spoilt it for me,_ he said in his head, and Crowley realised he inadvertently showed him the ending. _But I’ll let it pass. Talk to me?_

‘Just thinking about what a disaster the past months have been,’ he said out loud, against the fabric of his worn shirt[3]. ‘And Adam. Hey—isn’t it his birthday sometime soon?’

He slid his mobile out of his pocket and checked the calendar. It was the 22nd. He shared his birthday with Warlock, so that meant it would be in a month on the dot, 22nd August.

Aziraphale read all that in his mind and asked, ‘Do you think we’ll be invited?’

‘Dunno. Haven’t thought about it,’ said Crowley. It’s literally _just_ crossed his mind, the birthday. Another thought crossed it right behind that one, and he snorted. ‘Imagine the whole family there. Now _that_ would be a disaster.’

Lucifer asked about him during their last call. He almost sounded concerned. Interested, even. He’s never seemed to care about his son before, but Crowley’s heard he was fond of Trixie, Chloe’s daughter, who was the same age. And Amenadiel would probably jump at any opportunity to get some angel kid parenting advice. Things might be interesting yet.

Aziraphale chose to ignore that. He wrung his hands and smoothed the smooth fabric of his trousers. ‘And oh, Warlock. How do you reckon he’s doing?’

‘Last I heard, he’d gone to some public secondary school for little snobs that grow up to be ministers and continue to fuck this country up,’ Crowley said. ‘Found him on Instagram[4]. You think we should er, send him a gift or something?’

‘I do feel bad about leaving without saying a word,’ said Aziraphale, ‘though I suspect he doesn’t much care and hasn’t thought about us once.’

‘Yeahhh. No offence, angel, but you weren’t very good with him. If he were the Antichrist, he’d be demonic enough to end the world and enjoy it. We should be really glad we got it wrong.’

Especially in the later years, he’s been a bit of a brat, to be honest. Crowley took all the credit. He’d been _supposed to_ influence him to grow up into a properly evil Antichrist, after all, and Aziraphale just hadn’t been as good at thwarting him as he’d originally thought.

A momentary silence stretched between them, filled with the voices of Poirot and Hastings discussing the case. Then Aziraphale asked, ‘Do you think he and Adam should meet?’

Crowley sat up straight and looked at him. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous. Warlock lives in—wherever it is he goes to school, and they have _nothing_ in common but the circumstances of their birth. The kid likes video games and VR, not running about the woods with wooden swords. It would just confuse them. If they met, someone would have to explain why, and you can’t exactly do that without mentioning who we are and what happened. Trust me, Warlock’s better off thinking he had a weird nanny and living an otherwise normal life. Or what’s normal for him.’

Because, the way he saw it, the life of an American diplomat’s son was hardly normal. That was the whole reason why Hell had picked him and all.

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Aziraphale sighed. He reached for his glass of alcoholic watermelon smoothie and took a slurpy sip. ‘But I think sending a small gift wouldn’t go amiss. To both boys. Yes.’

Crowley let out an absent-minded hum. His thoughts spiralled again. ‘If we’re not too busy stopping the war again by then. Would be almost _poetic_ , it happening again exactly a year later.’

‘If you’ve got a flair for the dramatic.’

‘God does. Very dramatic, She is. I’d know.’

He grabbed the glass from Aziraphale’s hand and drank. He earned a pout for it. He gave the glass back, and Aziraphale finished it up. While doing so, a thought reached Crowley’s mind, _Is it still about the Rising, then? I thought you were alright with it. Well, not alright—you know what I mean._

_No, yeah, I suppose I’ve accepted that it happened. “Own it,” Amenadiel said. I can’t, not—but I’m not hating it, the warmth and the abilities I’ve long forgotten I’ve had. If only it came with less attention, y’know. They either think they’re entitled to forget all wrongs and take me back or want me to rule in Hell, which, no thanks._

Aziraphale ran a lazy hand through Crowley’s hair. His other hand put the glass down on the coffee table and reached for Crowley’s right hand, which has been idly sitting atop his thigh. It was a somewhat awkward position. ‘We’re on our own side,’ he said with a smile, cheeks slightly ruddy. ‘We won’t let them.’

‘You still think I should forgive Michael though.’

‘I never said that,’ he countered. ‘I said you shouldn’t dwell on the past too much. She’s merely a part of that.’

‘I,’ he groaned, drawing the vowel out, ‘don’t wanna deal with that right now. No Michael. No siblings. No Hell. Just you n’ me.’

Aziraphale’s hand caressed his neck. He kissed him, slow and overflowing with love. Crowley’s insides and essence lit up. This would never grow old. With the bond, kissing was a whole other experience. It was like fireworks combined with exploding stars, except pleasant. Being near an exploding star was _not_ pleasant. If you didn’t teleport away in time, discorporation was guaranteed. He’d know _that_ too[5].

_I’ve never been near an exploding star_ , Aziraphale noted. _Or any star, really._

He broke the kiss and said, out loud, ‘Take off your clothes.’

Crowley raised a surprised eyebrow and laughed. ‘Angel!’

‘I can help. Only if you want to, of course.’ He left a soft kiss on his neck and then on his shoulder. ‘I missed you.’

‘I’ve been gone for three days,’ Crowley remarked with amusement. He pulled Aziraphale in for another kiss.

Aziraphale sighed into his mouth. A thought Crowley wasn’t sure he was meant to hear slipped his mind. _You’ve been gone a week, even though you were here for most of it._

_The old me isn’t coming back, Aziraphale. I won’t ever feel the same to you. I won’t feel the same to myself either. I’m an angel now._

Aziraphale shuffled into his lap, somewhat clumsily, and held his face in his hands. He held his gaze and said, ‘Underneath it all, you’re still you. We all change a little over the centuries, but inside we’re the same. I’ve met angel-you before, and I’ve met demon-you, and you’re the same person. The one I’ve grown to love. I’ve told you before: it doesn’t matter to me what you are as long as you’re you. Crowley. Let me show you.’

He pressed a kiss to his forehead. He looked at him with so much reverence in his eyes that it might have upset the demon Crowley’s stomach. The angel Crowley soaked it up like a sponge and almost felt like glowing. He caught Aziraphale’s wrists and felt the blood unnecessarily flowing through his veins, as well as immaterial wings stretching wide and tendrils and wisps of energy intermingling with his own, light as sunrays.

‘I’m all yours,’ he whispered and let go of his hands. Aziraphale took the hint and released him so he could pull the shirt over his head and throw it aside. His wings opened and stretched over the sofa, or they would if they were materially present at the moment. As it were, they sort of overlapped with it. The tips brushed against Aziraphale’s—and he let out a delightful little sound.

His warm hands traced Crowley’s chest and settled on his hips. He quickly replaced them with his lovely, skilled mouth. If Aziraphale was a sight when savouring a home-baked dessert, well. That had nothing on being the subject of such savouring himself. Aziraphale trailed feather-light kisses down his neck and then kissed and sucked at his collarbones, sternum, nipples. Their essences crashed together within, as did their wings, and the divine love imprinted on each spot Aziraphale kissed burnt hot and exquisite.

Crowley’s hands raked Aziraphale’s back, just at the base of his wings. Aziraphale let out another whimper against his chest. Crowley felt like igniting. It was the building pleasure and the thought of that mouth moving decidedly lower, all the reverence and comfort Aziraphale radiated, but also the fact that oh, he could feel it much more intensely now.

Like, really intensely.

They’ve experimented with bonded mind-phone-sex recently, which he still remembered quite vividly despite having been quite tipsy, but this was. Something else. And he was just kissing him. He’s forgotten what it could be like, for an angel[6]. The idea of it, transferred to him from Aziraphale on the night before he’d Risen, couldn’t compare.

A heady ache settled between his legs, and Crowley’s jeans started to feel a lot like an obstacle, though they were a little less tight than normally.

‘Nhh, angel—’ Aziraphale licked around his nipple. Crowley whined. ‘Just wanted to say—ah—I—after the last time, I didn’t feel like going back to a cock, ‘s lot of effort, but I can switch it back—’

‘No, I think not,’ said Aziraphale. ‘You’re perfectly lovely either way, darling.’ He peppered kisses on his stomach and ran a hand down the front of his trousers. It made him shiver. ‘I think we should get you out of these.’

Crowley let out an affirming groan. Aziraphale clambered down and knelt on the floor. He slowly reached for the button and took his sweet time undoing and unzipping him. Crowley lifted himself up so he could slide them down. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, so that was easily done.

Aziraphale did not take off his underwear. He shuffled closer between his legs, but his attention was elsewhere. _So beautiful_ , he said between kisses to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. _So wonderful. So kind. It’s true, and you’re not allowed to be mad at me for saying it, or I’ll change my mind and won’t take those off._

He teased the edge of his black knickers. Crowley, who could also feel Aziraphale’s budding arousal and about a hundred lanterns lighting up where their wings and essence touched, was sure they were already wet.

‘Hell’s hardly keeping tabs anymore,’ he croaked out. ‘I don’t care. Touch me, angel.’

Aziraphale looked up at him and smiled. The tips of his fingers grazed his hips and the sides of his thighs, and his mouth sucked a mark. _Be patient, my dear. You have such a lovely body; all of it deserves attention._

Crowley tried to slide his own hand under the knickers, but Aziraphale slapped it away. ‘Dear. Hands off. Let me take care of you and just enjoy yourself.’

Crowley threw his head back. _I am. But if you could just—_

_You don’t like giving orders and being in charge, do you?_ Aziraphale teased. He slowly moved upwards and left a kiss right above the hem of his underwear. _Weren’t you sulking about that? You may be an Archangel, but not between us. You’re just Crowley. Who you’ve always been. Those Up and Down have no say in who you are. Only you do._

‘You’re mine,’ he said out loud. His tongue teased his belly button. ‘I’m yours. We’re on our own side, and that matters. I’m here for you.’

He slowly slithered up his body until he caught his mouth in an eager kiss. Then he finally hooked his fingers through the band of the knickers and pulled them down. They ended up on the same pile as the shirt and jeans. Still looking at him as if he hung the moon[7], he lowered himself between his legs. His lips brushed above the line of coarse dark hair and then, at last, he teased the seam of his folds.

Crowley let out a low moan.

Aziraphale delved deeper into him and lapped up the slickness, hot and wonderful and making the most fantastic sound. He dragged the tip of his tongue over his clit. Crowley gripped the sofa cushions until his knuckles were white. ‘Oh Lord, angel. Don’t stop.’

_So lovely and delicious,_ he said. He flattened his tongue and gave him a long lick. _Oh, you taste so good, Crowley. And I’m not saying that because you’re an angel, although it is different. Sweeter._ He sucked inside him again. _I’m saying it because it’s true, just as your eyes are gorgeous but it doesn’t mean they weren’t before. I like you like this, but I’ve loved you long before and will continue to love you and make love to you no matter what._

Crowley believed him.

‘Fuck, I love you,’ he said, barely louder than a whisper. Aziraphale picked up the pace, and he rocked his hips against him slightly as he ate him out. Their wings kept touching, and he could taste himself on Aziraphale’s tongue and feel the bouts of love and lust bursting from him and feel his _own_ —it was overwhelming.

_I love you too, darling serpent,_ Aziraphale thought.

Through his eyes, he could see the faint outline of his own halo when he came.

* * *

1 There had already been some furniture in the cottage when they’d moved in and the rest they shared about equally, but Crowley’s desk, throne chair, sofa, flat-screen TV, and some of his indoor plants, as well as the few decorative pieces he’d allowed himself to have, ended up there. One could call it a study, but the only reason Crowley had for coming there was to watch telly on the actual telly rather than just Netflix on his mobile. Sometimes, Aziraphale joined him, and that meant they’d have to watch something Aziraphale-approved, which mostly meant older programmes, _good_ period dramas, _good_ book adaptations, biographies, and, occasionally, when Aziraphale gave him those puppy eyes for long enough and promised not to mind Crowley’s grumbling, romantic films. Lately, they’ve been alternating between _Poirot_ and _Victoria_.[✿]

2 He’s only read a couple of Agatha Christie’s books, and the short story by which the episode was inspired, or the collection it belonged to for that matter, wasn’t one of them. Oh, he probably had the first edition somewhere, but believe it or not, he hadn’t read all of his books yet. He often reread his favourite ones over and over instead of picking the unread ones, especially when they were buried at the bottom of a rather precarious stack.[✿]

3 Don’t get him wrong: Aziraphale liked the clothes Crowley has bought him. He’s approved them personally, after all. But he thought there was no need to change his perfectly good outfit yet. It was summer, and they were at home. He couldn’t go as fast as Crowley and throw the old things away as soon as he obtained new ones.[✿]

4 It was about a week ago, on the same day Adam visited. After he briefly recalled his existence, he couldn’t stop thinking about him and had to at least check what was up. Of course the kid was on Instagram and Facebook. Crowley didn’t follow him, because that would only raise questions, but he felt better, knowing something.[✿]

5 Early-days creation experiments. Don’t ask.[✿]

6 No, Aziraphale wasn’t the first angel he’s ever had sex with. He was the only one he’s had sex with as a demon, but before him, there have been those hundreds of millions of years spent in Heaven. He’s always been into experiments and trying new things, so naturally, it had come to that too. Aziraphale knew this. He didn’t know _who_ he’d slept with, but he didn’t ask, so Crowley didn’t answer. It was for the best.[✿]

7 For the record, he didn’t, but only because he was already a demon by then. It would have been his job otherwise; he was sure of it. He was also slightly jealous of Uriel. He knew it was them thanks to Lucifer, who knew from Beelzebub, who knew from Gabriel. It was the standard chain of knowledge.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Obviously they didn't stop there.)


	70. Lily

Crowley sensed a nearby angelic presence before Aziraphale did.

One moment, he was listening to Aziraphale read something of Poe’s aloud and lying cuddled up to his bare chest like a snake sunning on a warm but oddly soft rock, and the next, his Celestial Alert was going off and being an annoying tingle at the back of his brain.

His immediate reaction was to frown. He didn’t want to deal with them right now, whoever it was. Not an Archangel—he’d be able to tell—but that might be even worse. It’s been a bloody _day_. Could a pair of retired celestial beings really not have a moment of peace around here?!

By that time, Aziraphale has caught on and stopped reading. He marked the line with a finger and gave Crowley a mildly panicked, concerned look. ‘There’s someone outside,’ he stated, a bit too late.

‘Thanks, I really can’t tell,’ Crowley gibed. He sighed through his nostrils and made no move to disentangle their legs. ‘Why _now_?’

Aziraphale placed an actual bookmark between the pages and put the book down. ‘Will you, er…?’

Crowley contemplated this. He contemplated Aziraphale’s still-startled mind, which has apparently forgotten how powerful he could be, especially when bonded to someone higher up the hierarchy, or that it mattered bugger-all that he was naked because clothes could be miracled on[1]. He contemplated his pleading eyes and general lack of will to get up. He also contemplated the fact that he felt the same and decided, ‘Together, angel. Get up.’

He reluctantly rolled off him and slid from under the knit throw. He padded to the window and saw no one there, which meant they were standing by the front door, not the garden gate. It was early enough in the morning for Crowley to call it early but late enough for him to be willingly awake[2], and the sun was well on the way to reaching noon, illuminating the lapping waves. It also shone right into Crowley’s face. He stepped away, let Aziraphale ogle his arse for a few more seconds, and then miracled some underwear, his usual jeans, and one of the new shirts on.

Sunglasses, too. Although the feature they were camouflaging has changed, they still were necessary camouflage. Snake eyes and dark lenses were expected, the lack of them was not.

Aziraphale generally preferred to put his clothes on manually, but he always took a long time with it, and anyway, the clothes were rather crumpled. The miracle had to do. He threw the blanket aside and slowly got out of bed. Crowley returned the appreciative stare, because fair was fair.

Then the doorbell rang.

Well, at least it wasn’t Sunday today, because that wouldn’t even be funny anymore. That would be the opposite of funny. That would be the Universe being sloppy with its sense of humour.

Knowing that Aziraphale would shortly go after him, Crowley ran down the stairs and tried not to look too aggravated or nervous as he crossed the hallway to the front door. He grabbed the handle. ‘Look, whatever it is you lot Upstairs want, I don’t want it. I’m _staying_ here with—’

He did a doubletake when he saw who was standing behind the door. He might have gaped for a second before he caught up with his mouth and ordered it to say something. ‘Oh. It’s—you.’

‘Hello, Crowley,’ said Hamaliel. He hasn’t seen them in person since the Fall, but he’d still recognise them anywhere. Even if they wore their distinctively blue hair long and braided now. That was new[3]. He’d known them to keep it barely longer than Uriel.

‘That is what I should still call you, right?’ they added.

His brow creased and mouth went dry. ‘How do you know,’ he asked flatly. ‘Did Michael tell you?’

‘No—no, I told _her_ in fact, when I realised that she knew. I saw the miracle logs. Class A, “Archangel Raphael smote eleven demons and manifested halo”. Very hard to miss.’

Crowley blinked and said, ‘Ah.’

That did _not_ go unnoticed, then. He _had_ been worried that the miracle might register, but he thought—well, he must’ve underestimated how modern Heaven has become since he got kicked out. There was probably some clever automatic miracle-recording system in action. Those logs couldn’t mistake his smiting for Amenadiel’s. Bless it.

‘Boy, you’re lucky that I’m the only one who can see those,’ they said, a small smirk tugging at their lips, ‘and that I like to think I still know you well enough not to spread it any further.’

Aziraphale walked down the stairs and approached Crowley from behind. Meanwhile, Crowley stared at them, in what _he_ liked to think was a studious and expressionless manner. They were right. Anyone else would take to gossip, but it was them, his protégé, successor, friend, the angel he’d taken better care of than their Parents have ever done, alongside the rest of the Virtues. They knew better.

Hell, it should have hit him. Virtues observed miracles. His former lot. Some were still loyal to him, apparently, and no one had access to the Archangels’ miracle logs but the boss. Logical, calm, clever Hamaliel. He’d made an excellent choice back then.

He grinned and then did something not even he saw coming, because he definitely did not consult it with himself beforehand: he stepped forward and wrapped them in a hug. ‘Oh, Lily, you haven’t changed,’ he said through the grin. ‘Welcome to our humble abode—and know that you and Rae are the only two angels I’m not kicking out.’

‘Honoured,’ they muttered. When they pulled back, they were giving him an odd face. A flabbergasted, odd face.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, it’s just—I can’t remember the last time someone called me that. Lily.’

‘No? Really?’ He cleared his throat. His hands slipped into his pockets. ‘Guess they’re even colder bastards then I thought then.’

Heaven used to be big on nicknames back in his time, especially between the Big Seven and their friends. Amenadiel, Azrael, and Lucifer[4] had had a nickname for _everyone_. He’d had a few too, naturally. Some of the Archangels still used them between themselves, as he’d found when they barged in on his bonding, but he had no clue about the rest of the angels—and if you asked him now, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

Mind, he never shortened Aziraphale’s name, but “angel” was a nickname too, wasn’t it? Especially when the one using it hadn’t been an angel himself until quite recently.

‘Crowley?’ said the angel in question, having crept up to the doorway. He was mightily confused because he expected to fight someone, not to see Crowley _hug_ that someone. He knew who they were from Crowley’s mind, of course, but he still appeared to be surprised when he saw them. ‘Ah, hello, Hamaliel.’

‘You remember Aziraphale,’ Crowley said to them.

‘Of course,’ they nodded. There was something of remorse in their eyes. ‘Haniel sends her regards and sincerest apologies. She didn’t know, Aziraphale. She didn’t know what they were going to do, or she’d have stopped it. You were one of _her_ agents first and foremost, and a brilliant one at that, not a scapegoat Gabriel could decide to execute.’

Crowley cocked his head in agreement. It was Aziraphale’s turn to be the gaping one. ‘Well, I—that’s—that’s lovely to hear. I agree. What he did was cruel and—and not sanctioned by the Highest Authority. Thank you. Do thank her as well, when you get back, will you, dear?’

They smiled at him. ‘I’ll pass it on[5].’

‘You should ah, come inside, Hamaliel. Do you want anything to drink? Tea? Or some watermelon? Crowley’s grown it himself,’ he said, obviously proud of Crowley’s agricultural achievement. He still thought of watermelons as particularly exotic. 

Not waiting for an answer, he stepped back and turned to the kitchen. Crowley, though lean enough for them to pass him by easily, moved aside and bade them enter, then closed the door behind them.

‘Tea would be lovely. Have you got green?’

‘Should have, yes,’ Aziraphale said. He rummaged through the tea cupboard until a victorious _aha!_ came out of his mouth and a bag of sencha appeared in his hand. He put the kettle on.

‘What brings you here, then?’ Crowley asked, leaning against the door and studying Hamaliel, whose keen eyes were scanning every corner of their kitchen. He wasn’t self-conscious; shut up, Aziraphale.

_Oh, you are, dear; I can feel it, remember?_ he said telepathically and turned to him with a polite smile that hinted at an edge of slyness. Crowley grimaced in retaliation.

‘I haven’t got a secret scheme up my sleeve if that’s what you’re asking,’ said Hamaliel, and yep, they’ve talked to Michael alright. Crowley wondered how they achieved that. Really, _were_ they still talking?

‘I just wanted to see you. With the memories back… I missed you, Crowley. Not to mention that you’re the third fallen angel to Rise, which is _incredible_. It really shows us how multidimensional we can all be, even God. And answers a lot of questions.’

‘Questions,’ Crowley repeated. It was a word he didn’t usually associate with Heaven. Not in a positive way, anyway.

‘There were theories,’ they replied. Their expression softened. ‘You don’t know the half of it. There are only five of your siblings Up There but ten million other angels, about half a million of whom are Virtues. _Our_ Virtues. Your influence is evident among us to this day. Not every angel is a cold, order-obeying machine, you know. And some of us have had questions and haven’t—’ They cut themselves off.

‘Yep, throw that in my face.’ He shook his head. ‘Nah, ‘s fine. I know what you mean. I didn’t have to, but I thought I did, so I did. I could’ve—’ He sniffed. ‘Fought back. Could’ve been stronger. Anyway. Congrats; you’re not all stupid.’

The kettle announced that the water was now boiling and that it should be turned off. Aziraphale, who was listening but staying out of the conversation, did so. He removed the lid so it could cool down a bit. Green tea and boiling water didn’t work well together.

‘I’ll give you two a moment,’ he said. He kissed Crowley on the cheek and pattered away. _Mind the tea_ , he added quickly, for his mind only.

Crowley brought the water down to some 80 degrees by staring at it convincingly enough and poured it into the teapot, where an infuser stuffed full of dried leaves waited to be soaked. He watched Hamaliel from the corner of his eye. Maybe he imagined it, but was there a touch of distant longing in their eyes as they watched Aziraphale retreat and then glanced at Crowley’s beringed hand[6]?

‘How—what is it like? How are you feeling?’ they asked. They half-sat on the table. Crowley, who has never been a fan of sitting in chairs properly—or in chairs, full stop—approved and did the same with the worktop.

‘I wasn’t too excited about it at first, let me tell you. It’s still complicated. I didn’t expect it, or ask for it, and I definitely don’t want to come back.’ He snapped his fingers in their direction. ‘Note that down; I know you’d ask.’

‘I respect your choice. You’re the boss.’

He groaned. ‘No, no, no, I’m not; that’s the _point_! You are, Lily, you’re the boss. Bet you’re good at it, too. I’m not interested. But er. Thanks. It’s more than Michael had given me.’

‘She’d said,’ they noted. They let out an exasperated blow of air. ‘What she’d done wasn’t very smart. I told her as much. That angel has some serious issues with managing her emotions, let me tell you. But I’m hoping we can work on it.’

Crowley, notably curious at this point, asked, ‘So you’re still talking?’

‘We talked twice this month. Other than that, it’s been all business since the Fall.’ They absently brushed a hand through their hair. If Crowley looked more closely, their aura would betray a tint of melancholy. ‘Do you think we’d be where we are right now if Michael hadn’t isolated herself?’

That was. An interesting thought. It probably applied to all of the Archangels. All Crowley knew about post-Fall Heaven was from Aziraphale’s accounts, but he knew his siblings and their methods. He’s met them recently. If they hadn’t chosen to forget and build a bureaucratic Heaven, would things be different? If Michael hadn’t been an idiot and bonded with Hamaliel long before the War happened?

He’d _told_ her. He’d _noticed_. But she’d chosen to ignore her feelings, saying something about bonds between angels denying the unconditionality of their love for their Parents and making one put an individual before the community. He remembered it, because he’d thought it was stupid.

He muttered, ‘Point.’

‘So what do you think now?’ they asked. A bit lost, Crowley raised an eyebrow. They specified, ‘About Rising. You said you weren’t too excited _at first_.’

‘Errrrr, it’s kind of, it’s not bad. It’s incredible, actually, and that still bloody terrifies me. As does that fact that I’m getting used to it. It’s weird after all those years, _super_ weird, but it’s not hard to get used to when you suddenly don’t feel so desperately miserable anymore and don’t see yellow snake eyes staring back at you in the mirror. Be glad you don’t know what being a demon is like. But like I said—it’s complicated.’

He took off his sunglasses and threw them aside. The gesture couldn’t have the same effect on them as it did on everyone else, because they’d never met him as a snake-eyed demon, but they sucked in a breath nonetheless[7].

‘I can’t even imagine,’ they said, holding his gaze. The way they were scanning him made a shiver run down his wings. ‘I’m glad you’re back. Although I’ve got to confess—and I’ve already told Michael this—I’ve always admired you as the Serpent of Eden, even when I didn’t know that it was _you_. I’m glad it was. The Garden, Adam and Eve, it was important. I’ve always believed that it was meant to happen that way.’

‘Really?’ he smiled, despite himself. He crossed his arms and legs and leant back against the worktop, practically lounging on it. ‘I mean, She should’ve put the tree on the top of a mountain if She didn’t want them eating the apples, right?’

‘Exactly! Clearly, the don’t-touch sign was a temptation in and of itself; it was _meant_ to tempt the tempter into being ignored. What would the point of humanity be otherwise?’

‘Don’t let the rest of Heaven hear that,’ he laughed, delighted. ‘Might think you’re mad, sympathising with the Serpent and being all pro-free will.’

‘You’d be surprised to hear what the memories have done.’

The smile gave way to a scrunchy grimace. ‘Don’t remind me. How bad is it?’

‘How _bad_?’ Hamaliel’s eyebrows rose up. ‘Heaven is finally progressing. Your siblings might not be the best at it, but they’re not opposed to change, Michael especially. It’s clear they care, Crowley, in their own way. Each of them has their regrets and pains, they’re merely… on different levels when it comes to handling them.’

He threw them a sceptical look. ‘D’you want me to believe that _Gabriel_ has any regrets?’

‘He’s a prick, I’m sure you’ll agree,’ they said, and he absolutely did, ‘but I believe he does, under all his arrogance and denial. Michael fought him about it, you know. He—said some words. He mostly spoke of Beelzebub, she told me, but he’s in pain over you too.’

* * *

1 They haven’t been having sex the whole time. They’d had lunch eventually, finished that _Poirot_ episode and watched one more, gone for a walk, had a few more rounds of sex, and taken a rather long nap. Just so you’d know.[✿]

2 About quarter to nine.[✿]

3 So were the light blue palazzo trousers and white shirt they were wearing instead of linen robes or the uniform he’d seen them in last. But that was predictable, seeing as robes have gone out of fashion quite some time ago in Heaven.[✿]

4 Or maybe he should say Amen, Rae, and Luci. Also known as Diel, Rae-Rae, Az, Lu, Luce, and Sam (before he’d come up with Lucifer, anyway), respectively. He’d been known to everyone as Raph or, occasionally, Ra. There were also Gabe, Briel, Chael, and Uri. He wasn’t going to mention Lucifer’s less favourable ones. The point was, everyone called each other nicknames, and they were usually different depending on the person. The same applied to the rest of the angels.[✿]

5 Before they departed for Earth, they’d had a little chinwag with her. They were friends, the two of them, and liked to think of themselves as the most reasonable of the Nine. Sometimes they included Barachiel in that category as well, but really, it depended on the day and amount coffee he’d had.[✿]

6 _Long absent, soon forgotten_ , they said. _Absence makes the heart grow fonder_ , they also said. The fact that Michael sought them out and wished to try to be friends again wasn’t helping. The distance and formality with which she carried herself during the business meetings made letting her go easier, but yesterday, she—

She said she regretted never saying anything. She let them see her vulnerable and give her advice. Oh, she was stubborn and probably would take a while to realise it really was worth following, but she listened all the same. It was, perhaps, starting to get complicated. Again.[✿]

7 It’s been more than two million years. More than two million years since they saw those eyes. They’ve forgotten what they looked like and how they made them feel. Seen. Comforted. Appreciated. All with a spark of mischief.[✿]


	71. Qualms of Conscience

Gabriel has always prided himself in being good at his job.

He was an Archangel, one of God’s oldest and most beloved children, and that meant two things: one, that he was in charge of everyone else[1], and two, that in order to do that, he had to be a perfect soldier who did everything in his power to ensure that everything worked as intended and went according to Plan. That was how it’s always been.

Right now, however, he found that he couldn’t focus on anything. His mind kept coming back to the War. Crowley, Lucifer, Beelzebub, the whole lot.

And then there was that fight with Michael. He’d needed to let off some steam, alright, but he wasn’t proud of _that_. They might not always agree with each other or each other’s methods, but they were still siblings. Angels. Angels didn’t fight each other. The last time that had happened, a third of them had ended up Fallen—and that had applied even to _them_. They’d lost two out of seven.

The very same two this entire plight was _about_.

They had both Risen, for some reason beyond Gabriel’s understanding. _Risen_. They really had the audacity, after all the trouble they’d gone to to get themselves expelled and forgotten! And now they were complicating things and attracting all the attention again, because of course they did. Always rebellious; always in the limelight no matter how hard one of them might try to deny it.

The damned memories were continuously distracting Gabriel from work, for one.

And look. He could deal with the fact that the demon Crowley had been Raphael once. That had been a long time ago. He was on Earth, the traitor Aziraphale was with him, and they weren’t anyone’s problem anymore. Both he and Beelzebub had washed their hands clean of those two, and that was that. The fond memories had settled in the back of his mind, and if he focused hard enough, they stayed there and didn’t complicate things even further.

By, for example, bringing up the flashback of his and Beelzebub’s bonding ceremony again and again, which in turn prompted the memory of her Fall or the conversation he’d had with both her and Michael about it. You know, the one about regret. Which had led to both of them trying to convince him that he should welcome Crowley back and apologise to him or something[2].

It hurt. Oh, it did. But suddenly, rules should be changed because of it? Things should go back to the way they had been Before? They should fraternise with lower angels and not smite demons on sight? Erase two million years’ worth of work because of some memories?

He let Michael do her thing and even _did her job for her_ , as he might have mentioned[3], because if there was one thing they’d been right about, it was that God hasn’t been giving them instructions for a very, very long time. She wouldn’t tell them what to do or not do, and he didn’t wish to anger Her by going against Her Plan. The situation with the Great Plan would _not_ repeat itself, thank you very much. He’d made a fool of himself by following the exact orders She’d given them, which had _not_ been meant to be taken all that seriously—fine, then, he wasn’t going to start the war. He’d see where this would lead.

But he still thought she was going too far with her suddenly altruistic attitude. Where were the righteous anger and holy vengeance? She was a warrior. She’d cast Lucifer and Crowley down and been proud of it, carrying out their Parents’ orders like so and purifying Heaven of the disease Raphael had not only allowed to spread but also caught himself.

But then—

Oh, there was Beelzebub and the things he’d said to her.

She wasn’t his rebellious sibling. She was his bondmate, and he’d turned against her despite _knowing_ what it would mean for her, and for him, too.

The memory, despite his best efforts, resurfaced once more. At this point, he was coming up with alternative versions of it, ones where it wasn’t _his_ spear. Or _any_ spear. She could have been in charge _here_ , among the Nine. She’d back him up and stand against Michael and her silly new policies.

Instead, she was acting as a bastardised version of a Prime Minister in Hell. She loved it, and she kept shutting him out because she didn’t love _those_ thoughts.

He couldn’t help those regrets though. He could turn them off no more than he could turn off the generator powering the City[4].

And no, no matter what Michael claimed, he was _not_ jealous of Crowley and Lucifer for getting an opportunity to return. Why would he be? Lucifer was still in Hell. Crowley chose to stay on Earth and didn’t even fucking ask for it. They were no real Archangels anymore.

The Heaven they could go back to wasn’t his Heaven.

Gabriel blinked and stared at the document open on his computer. He better get back to that. Immaculate paperwork was it, not all these annoying little feelings. Those were most definitely not it.

He reached for the keyboard. The palms of his hands tingled with heat where they’d been lying flat on the desk. He snorted. He must have been projecting _his_ righteous anger alright.

He’s felt this way since the Fight, every now and then.

He brought himself to check over the proposed questionnaire, now with Saint Michael’s input. If it took him a little longer than usual—well, no one would dare comment on that, would they. He was a busy angel.

When his notes were written and the group email sent, he got up and let his feet take him to the Holy Watercooler. Refreshment, especially something as cleansing as the Holiest of Holy Water, was much needed after a bout of hard work, he’d tell you. It would calm his thoughts. Then he could get back to work and stop thinking about bloody Crowley for a minute.

Much to his pleasure, there was no one there. It was usually gossip and giggling angels all around the watercooler these days. For that reason, he always brought a bottle with him and steered clear of that particular corridor for as long as the water would last. He took said bottle[5] and filled it. Then he took a sip.

It wasn’t pleasantly cool. It was almost scalding. What the fuck.

That had to be the reason for the absence of angels[6]. He took his mobile instead and called Maintenance. ‘Hi, the Most Holy Archangel Gabriel here. I’d like to report that the watercooler in the Palace is malfunctioning. The water is hot, not cold. Send someone to fix it immediately.’

Not waiting for an answer, he hung up. Honestly, did he have to do everything himself around here?

_Can you believe it?_ he thought-asked Beelzebub. He liked to air his complaints to her. She was a demon and thrived on complaints.

_I can feel it,_ she said, disgruntled as always. _Disgusting. Like you drank Holy Fire instead. What’s up?_

He headed back to his office, passing a hurrying messenger on the way. They gave him an odd look. Gabriel paid them no mind and focused on her instead. Where there was pain, there was also familiarity. _The usual_ , he said. _Everyone is incompetent, Crowley is surely beside himself with smugness about all the chaos he’s causing—and they don’t even know he’s a goddamn angel now!—and I still can’t stop thinking about you._

_I told you to keep your regret and your intrusive thoughts_ , she spat. _If that’s all, I’m going to block you. I don’t have time for this. This election stuff is more important than your whining._

_Bee—_

She’s already faded from the forefront of his mind. 

His mobile rang, if the sounds it emitted could be called ringing. He accepted the call with a simple, ‘Yes?’

‘Prince Gabriel, er,’ said a nervous voice on the other end.

‘What? Out with it.’

‘This is Maintenance. I came to take a look at the watercooler you mentioned, but it seems that it’s working properly. If you—if you were to miracle it fixed yourself—I’m sorry, Michael said to say what we thought, and I, er—you could have said.’

Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘I didn’t miracle it fixed. I don’t bother with such trivial acts of divine power.’

‘Well, Prince Gabriel, I’m telling you that it’s working properly. I tried the water myself.’

Huh. Weird.

When he failed to make a further comment, the angel said, ‘If that will be all… well, God be with you.’

They hung up. Gabriel frowned at the screen of his phone. The manners of these angels, seriously. He stuffed the device into his pocket and carried on. He needed a jog. That would surely fix this sorry state he was in. Earth perhaps left a lot to be desired, but he did have to say that the forests in Norway were rather nice. Likewise, the House could sometimes offer some much-needed space and solitude.

Or a demon he could lay in bed with when she wasn’t too busy Downstairs. Either worked.

He teleported inside the house and changed into a t-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms. Summer tended to be too hot for a sweatshirt even around here. Without Beelzebub there, he went straight outside and set out on his usual route. The sun was shining, hot against his skin.

He hadn’t worked on its creation, but he knew who had. Lucifer.

He ran a mile, then two, then five. The thoughts didn’t go away, and neither did the constricting feeling in his chest. The pain was stubborn, it was. But he wouldn’t let it win. How dared it? He was the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel. How dared _they_?

_Gabriel_ , said a voice in his head. He barely registered it. _Gabriel, fucking listen to me!_

He stopped running. All at once, his legs gave out under him, and he collapsed onto the forest trail. His chest burnt as if someone stabbed him. Michael had scratched him with her sword four days ago, but that had been nothing. He’d healed it. Or so he’d thought. It was burning again now, right at that spot where his heart would be were he human.

_Gabriel_ , Beelzebub shouted again, voice contorted even though it was a thought.

_Bee, what the hell is—_

_Fuck. Fuck everything, not this again, not—no, fuck the elections; I’m coming up. Hold on, you idiot. Two million years—that’s all it took! Look at this—maybe I believe in justice after all! There’s your regret!_

He didn’t understand what was happening or why she was saying any of that.

He doubled over in pain, gritting his teeth and setting the two pairs of his wings free. Not a feather looked out of place, but they were burning too.

The ground in front of him popped open, and out of it rose Beelzebub. She could barely conceal the fact that she felt every bit of his pain as she crossed those few steps that separated them.

Seeing her, that memory came back.

The pain was nothing like Michael’s sword. It was old pain, yes, but it was much, much older than that. He’s only felt something like that once, at that moment he kept replaying in his mind.

‘Look at yourself,’ she drawled, holding his chin in her hand and lifting his head up. ‘Look through my eyes, _darling Gabriel_. You do know what’s happening, don’t you? You’re Falling.’

* * *

1 Well, together with Michael, but the point still stood.[✿]

2 Indirectly, in Beelzebub’s case, but it was there. He _could_ occasionally read between the lines, thank you very much. He wasn’t that stupid. He knew what his bondmate was thinking. And she’s gone mad, apparently, saying that he shouldn’t waste his regret on her and instead do something about the situation with the brothers who never wanted to Fall. She was a _demon_. Since when did she care?[✿]

3 One (1) time. Honestly, Gabriel, stop acting as if it was some sort of great, praiseworthy achievement.[✿]

4 There wasn’t one. The Silver City ran on divine power only. Who’d bother with electricity when thoughts and belief were the only things you needed?[✿]

5 It was made of translucent plastic that always maintained the desired temperature and accommodated more water than its physical limits should allow. It also bore the emblem of angel wings, just like everything else he owned.[✿]

6 It wasn’t. It was a pure coincidence, which involved Ithuriel and some cat videos.[✿]


	72. The Mighty Have Fallen

‘No,’ Gabriel cried. ‘No, no, no, that’s impossible, I can’t—I can’t Fall! I’m the Archangel Gabriel!’

Beelzebub lowered her hand and scoffed, ‘And you’re still in denial! You can see it, can’t you? You know that it’s happening. It has been for a while, but no—you feel hot and uncomfortable in Heaven because of Michael, the watercooler is malfunctioning—it’s anything but your fault. Well, newsflash, birdbrain. You did this to yourself.’

He gasped, half for the pain and half for undesirable realisation. The watercooler. The water really happened to be fine, but it’d almost burnt him because he was Falling and slowly becoming lethally allergic to Holy Water and all blessed objects by extension.

He saw it in her eyes. His wings haven’t developed any new colours[1], but his hair was as dark as the night. He didn’t even want to ask about his eyes.

He couldn’t even if he wanted to. Searing agony scratched out the angelic marks on his back, and the fire burning up his essence and corporation redoubled. He whimpered and beat his wings. That only made it worse because there were trees around, which his enormous wingspan clumsily and inevitably collided with. His immaculate, manicured hands sank into the soft ground.

Beelzebub never, ever allowed herself to be seen as weak. That was a fact. Now, though, her knees buckled. She let out a curse and sucked in a breath through her teeth, and even went as far as to lean on a tree for support. Gabriel wasn’t looking, but he knew that she reached to wipe a tear away all the same[2].

‘I can’t Fall,’ he moaned again, forcing himself to look up. ‘I don’t want to Fall! Don’t you think that if I—did it to myself—’

‘It’s not a conscious choice, ‘course it bloody isn’t,’ she said, smirking despite the pain. She slammed a finger against her own chest. ‘But it’s there, deep down in your very core. You know why it’s happening. You judged yourself guilty, o mighty one! Lucifer may be talking a load of rubbish, but does he know how to say it and make you listen. And I guess he has a point!’

Self-actualisation. Michael had mentioned that too. As far as he was concerned, it was absolute bullshit. He? Judging himself guilty? Of what? He had a few regrets, yes, but he was practically in charge of Heaven. Someone like him couldn’t Fall! He was indispensable! Seriously, he had to reverse this. There had to be a way.

_I used to think that you’d never tip over the edge despite some of your worse qualities,_ she added, a voice in his already overwhelmed mind. _But I guess even you eventually stopped believing you were a perfect, innocent angel. How the mighty have Fallen!_

‘What’s your sin, then?’ he panted, clenching his fists. He really wanted to change the subject.

She shot him a look so dark it would terrify any demon or angel within a five-mile radius. He wasn’t just anyone, so he barely flinched. Nothing could be worse than the feeling of fire purging you from the inside and eating up your wings, which still pretended everything was fine on the outside. Which, good. His wings have always been his pride.

But he wouldn’t prod, just to be sure[3].

‘There you are,’ Beelzebub said, putting on a falsely sweet smile. ‘Pride, vanity, arrogance, wrath, jealousy, anger, questions, guilt, regret, disagreeing with your precious Mama, not accepting what your siblings are doing or becoming—I could go on. Not to mention this secret affair between us. _Me._ You’re hurting over _me_ and regretting casting me down. But are you really?’

She slowly peeled herself off the tree and joined him on the ground. Her clenched fists were the only sign of the pain she was sharing with him. ‘You wished to take it back. You said you were sorry for betraying me. But the promise you’d made to me hadn’t been about not casting me out, had it? You’d promised you’d stay by my side no matter what. And then you didn’t.’

There was an edge of ice and irony to her voice. Her aura shone with vindication when he dared to focus enough to see. She was—right. He’d almost followed her down, but instead he’d cast out the evil one and, thirsty for blood and high on power, raised his spear against the next rebel and shut the connection between them.

A black-painted nail grazed his cheek. She whispered, ‘The pain feels almost sweet now.’

‘It’s fucking horrible!’ he shouted in her face. She didn’t flinch. ‘It’s like I’m burning up inside and all that’s left is—is emptiness, and, and, and it has to stop! This isn’t right! It isn’t fair! I have to go back!’

‘I know the feeling, believe me!’ she shouted back, her blue eyes bearing into his[4]. ‘But you can’t, Gabriel. You’re a demon now. You finally made good on that promise—and that’s about the only good you have done or will do in a _while_.’

She was pleased about that. Of course she would be. She was a Prince of Hell, always loyal to the infernal cause. Her only rebellion against it was continuing to see him.

He gave a sob when a pang of ice-cold pain struck his core. But he also felt angry. Really, really angry at those two siblings of his who _caused this whole thing_. They could Rise, and he had to Fall? That was wrong. _That_ was unfair. Bloody Crowley and all those _memories_.

He winced his wings in and set his jaw. ‘They’re going to pay for this.’

‘That’s more like it,’ Beelzebub said. She licked her lips. ‘Acting like a true demon already.’

He blinked and furrowed his brow. ‘What? No—’

‘No, Gabriel, don’t you see?’ she spoke over him. Their noses almost touched. ‘That’s the real you. That’s always been you, only it took you this bloody long to embrace it. You’ve never been Daddy’s Perfect Angel, have you?’ She pressed a hot palm against his chest. ‘A piece of you has always been Fallen because of what you’d done to me. You couldn’t avoid it either way. I won.’

‘Get off me,’ he spat, pushing her to the ground. ‘I should never have come back to you. You’ve corrupted me! I bet you’re very happy with yourself now, demon.’

‘Look at the pot calling the kettle black[5],’ she smirked, propping herself up on her elbows. ‘Sure I am. You’re mine now—and don’t pretend you don’t enjoy me sitting on your cock and riding you until you cry or snogging me like the rest of the Universe doesn’t exist or airing all your complaints and grievances at me because no one else can possibly understand. _You love me_. You said it yourself.’

Gabriel got up, albeit a bit wobblily. The pain was a dull, pulsing presence now. He ran his hands through his hair and didn’t say the next bit out loud.

_Sometimes I wish I didn’t._

Beelzebub hopped up and brushed her clothes off. She pulled a dagger from one of her pockets and casually cleaned her nails with it. ‘I wonder what Michael is going to say,’ she mused. ‘Or Lucifer, for that matter.’

The blood in Gabriel’s veins ran cold, and then it stopped running altogether because it needn’t do that in the first place. ‘They can’t know. No one can know,’ he pleaded.

Oh, Lucifer would love it, no doubt. He refused to give him the pleasure. He refused to let anyone else see him like this. It could be fixed, and no one would have to know. Least of all Michael and her sanctimonious attitude.

Beelzebub, to his surprise and bewilderment, laughed. ‘You’re an even bigger hypocrite than I thought!’ She pointed that dagger at him. Nonthreateningly. ‘That’s what I said and you decided to ignore. That’s what Crowley said and you decided to ignore. But now that it’s _you_ …’

‘This is different! I’m an Archangel!’

‘Oh, so you think you’ve got a pass because of that? So’re Lucifer and Crowley, or did you _forget_?’ She shook her head. ‘If Boss’s right and this whole Fall-Rise business is about learning lessons, then I guess we know what’s yours. Not that I care; it’s just hilarious.’

‘Hil— _hilarious_? That’s what you think, huh?’ He pointed an irritated finger at her. Then he quickly turned around and started walking away, never mind that he didn’t really know where he was because he’d stopped paying attention to that a few miles ago. He called, ‘Well, I think it’s anything but, sunshine. I’m going.’

‘Where, back to Heaven?’ she scoffed. She followed him. He could feel her exasperation getting closer. ‘Not to burst your bubble, but they’ll be able to tell. It’s going to burn like Hell, for one. Or like Heaven, actually.’

_That’s the one shitty thing about you Falling,_ she thought in the background. _No more Holy Water and Holy Fire immunity. Fuck, that was **useful**._

Gabriel spun around. ‘The one shitty—’ He huffed. ‘That’s what I was good for, huh, a shag and holy powers? Guess we both lost something today, _Bee_. You did this to yourself too.’

She flung the dagger at him. Having known that she would thanks to the whole shared minds thing, he avoided it and let it land in the prickly shrubbery that grew under the trees.

‘Go to Hell,’ she said.

‘Ha!’ he guffawed. ‘As if. No, Beelzebub, I’m going to fix this and go back to where I’m supposed to be. Crowley and Lucifer Rose—well, then so will I. This is a glitch, that’s all.’

He continued walking at a brisk pace. There was one pestering thought on his mind though: did he even believe that himself anymore? He felt a giant pool of emptiness sucking all that warmth, optimism, and belief out of him, drop by drop. That bit inside him that he’d reach for when he needed to contact Beelzebub or bring up the more infernal aspects of his power was taking over him. It was freezing. Constricting. His lungs didn’t allow him to breathe—so he didn’t. And another thing he didn’t do was have the same amount of faith in God.

Beelzebub sighed. She picked up the dagger and then kept following him. After a while, she said, ‘You’re such an idiot. If you could fix it like this—’ She clicked her fingers. ‘It wouldn’t’ve happened in the first place. Be delusional if you want, but it’s _internal_. Look at dear old Raph. He didn’t want to Rise but did. You didn’t want to Fall but did. That’s it. If you want to fix it, you have to—and I can’t believe I’m even entertaining the idea of saying it—you have to _do actual good and repent, and not only for the sake of Rising_ , because that’s what’s being an angel is about. You have to be selfless. And we both know that’s almost impossible for you. Maybe it’ll happen, but not when you’re like this. You’re a demon. Embrace that. I meant it—go to Hell with me. Where else is there? _Earth_? Are you going to move to LA and beg Amenadiel to take mercy on you too?’

‘What would you know about that?’ he scoffed. It was partially to mask the realisation that he really had nowhere to go. Nowhere but the House, on this insignificant little planet he’d wanted to destroy for the sake of fighting and eradicating all demons[6].

She crossed her arms, which he saw with his metaphysical eyes, and said, ‘Lucifer. He’s annoying when he’s bored. But, y’know…’ She raised a dark eyebrow. ‘That could still be remedied.’

Gabriel momentarily stopped walking and let her catch up. ‘What are you implying?’

‘Let me dumb it down for you,’ she said, unimpressed. ‘We have the Parliament, and it’s sort of working, but the issue with Lucifer not wanting to deal with Hell still stands. You’re an Arch, you’re bonded to me, and now you’re a demon. You want to have the kind of power Heaven never really allowed you to have? Take it. Or you can wallow in denial and self-pity and try to get back to the Heaven that’s not your perfect paradise anymore. The choice is yours.’

* * *

1 Contrary to the opinion of many theologists, demonologists, fiction writers, and other self-proclaimed experts, demons’ wings did not automatically turn black upon Falling. The wings usually didn’t change at all. Crowley’s wings had already been black, and some other demons’ had been as well, but white-winged demons were just as common in Hell. They were merely embarrassed about it, because white wings didn’t go with the general aesthetic _at_ _all_. But then, neither did flamingo pink, hummingbird green, or canary yellow, for instance.[✿]

2 One might think that it would be easier the second time around. One would be wrong. She wasn’t the one Falling, but that tiny part of Gabriel’s divinity inside her was. And because of it, she could feel every bit of what Gabriel felt, too.[✿]

3 She hadn’t judged herself guilty so much as disillusioned and faithless. She’d seen the true nature of God and His love and His faithful soldiers, and there had been no coming back from that. She hadn’t been able to stay in Heaven and serve as an obedient little sheep, spreading false messages of unconditional divine love and helping people become worthy of His eternal glory. She’d chosen Lucifer who never lied and his realm of honest chaos over that, and would choose it again any day.[✿]

4 His pupils were so dilated his eyes almost looked black. But there was still a tiny band of purple. It was closer to violet, _dark_ , but it was still purple. And normal. He didn’t get reptile eyes or completely black pools. That was good. Very good. Excellent.[✿]

5 Or, as often heard in Hell, a demon calling another’s soul black.[✿]

6 He once asked himself whose side he was really on—Heaven’s, or Beelzebub’s? Guess he had his answer now. He also knew where asking questions could lead you. He didn’t sympathise with Crowley. He _didn’t_. But he too had only wanted some goddamn answers, not a years-long, Fall-involving riddle he had to solve himself![✿]


	73. Not So Fortunate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's from Maze's POV.
> 
> Side note: I tried to make it sound a bit more American here, but I'm not all that good at it. If you find something an American wouldn't say (or, yknow, think), just chalk it up to her being a demon first and an American English speaker second I guess. And same with Gabriel actually :')

Maze came home on Friday evening.

It had been five days. It was funny, she thought, how nothing at all had changed in the house. It should have. There shouldn’t be the same throw pillows strewn around the couch, the same toys lying on the coffee table, or the same bubble wrap angel-baby-proofing the ceiling fan. Everything she’d thought she knew about herself was a lie. Her entire world had turned on its axis. But here, everything still acted as if nothing had happened.

She didn’t like it.

Given that it was Friday evening, Amenadiel was nowhere to be seen, instead manning the club. Linda was most definitely home though—and as if on cue, she came out of the bathroom and denied Maze the last few bits of calm before the well-intentioned interrogation.

‘Hey, Maze,’ she said, taking in the carryall slung over her shoulder. ‘Has there been a bounty, or…? You haven’t been picking up your phone.’

‘No,’ said Maze eloquently. The bag slid onto the floor with a rattling thud betraying the bunch of weapons stuffed among the clothes. She took her lace-up sandals off[1] and marched straight to the fridge, where she grabbed a beer.

Linda hovered in the doorway. ‘Oh. Well, whatever you had to deal with—just know that I’m always here if you want to talk, okay? But it’s your business, so don’t feel pressured. Unless you’ve committed murder. You haven’t, have you?’

Maze shot her an unimpressed look. She laughed. ‘Relax, I know you’re not that kind of demon.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Still. You could have called. I had to leave Charlie with Dan again. _Twice_.’

Maze opened the beer with her bare hand and took a sip. ‘He still alive?’

‘Oh, he’s fine. He’s a tough little angel,’ Linda answered, sighing dreamily. She threw a quick glance at the living room, where he was probably sleeping in his crib.

‘No, I meant Dan,’ Maze snorted. She remembered the misadventures of his brief babysitting career quite vividly, and she’d only seen it through a videocall[2]. How he could’ve raised Trixie was frankly beyond her.

But then again, _anyone_ could do better than Lilith. Trixie was a pretty great human, anyway.

‘Good point,’ Linda said, biting back a grin. ‘Well, no, actually, he seems to be getting better at getting him to calm down. I gave him that stuffed snake Crowley made—works wonders. Charlie really loves that thing.’

No wonder, when his uncle was the Serpent of Eden. And his other uncle was the Devil himself. And Maze, a demon, was his favourite person ever.

Beer in hand, she walked to the living room. Charlie was indeed sleeping right next to the sofa, all peaceful, angelic, and blissfully unaware of the world. He was innocent. He didn’t know anything about good and evil and politics yet. What his relatives had done wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that he was born in 2019 and didn’t even know how lucky he was to get to keep his wings, either.

She’d been where he was right now once, but she hadn’t been so fortunate. She’d had a cruel mother instead of a loving one.

‘So er, I’ve been meaning to finally finish that book—’ Maze’s gaze dropped to a cheesy romance novel lying on the coffee table. ‘—but do you wanna talk? ‘Cause something’s _clearly_ bothering you.’

She dropped onto the sofa and took a long swig. ‘I’ve been to Vegas,’ she said. ‘You know, partying, drinking, having lots of sex, the usual. I got to beat up a guy two days ago; that was _fun_! He was harassing some women—until he messed with the wrong demon. But I still couldn’t stop thinking about…’ She trailed off.

‘About?’ Linda prompted. She sat next to her. ‘Also, Vegas, wow. I wish I had the luxury to just pack up and go there for a week.’

Maze put an arm around her shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘Someday I’ll take you. Girl, I _love_ that place. They don’t call it Sin City for nothing; it’s like a demon’s paradise. Really reminded me of the old times.’

She wasn’t even a Tempter, not by job description, but damn, just being within the borders of the city had been enough to give her a proper rush.

‘I might take you up on that someday[3],’ Linda said, patting her hand. She was having none of it though. Making people talk about things was her thing, even at home. ‘But?’

Maze sighed and withdrew her arm. Her fingers rhythmically tapped at the bottle. ‘Remember when I told you about my mother?’

Linda hummed in agreement. Maze took a draught of beer and a deep breath. ‘Turns out she did something worse than just abandon me and my siblings. Crowley told me. It was bad. It was really, really bad, and Lucifer knew this entire time and _kept it_ _from me_.’

Linda’s lips parted, but she took a while to speak as she processed it. ‘Lucifer… kept something from you?’

‘Apparently, it doesn’t count as lying when a secret that’s convenient for “the good of the realm” or some bullshit is at play,’ she scoffed, making finger quotes—somewhat more difficultly with the hand holding the bottle. ‘Bastard. Bastards, all of them.’

Linda, unfazed by Lucifer’s Luciferish loopholes at this point in her professional career as a therapist for both humans and celestials, said, ‘Well. Can’t disagree in this case. And this secret is…?’

‘How much do you know about demons?’ Maze asked.

‘My best friend is one, so I’d say more than enough,’ she joked. More seriously, she added, ‘I mean, I know there are Fallen, right, and the Lilim. Why?’

‘Well, obviously, _we_ are the children of that backstabbing bitch Lilith and fallen angels. Basically half-human, half-angel. Like little Charlie over there.’ She hooked a thumb in his direction. ‘Basic science. Everyone knows that. But where are our wings, huh? Our powers?’ She crossed her arms and stared forward. ‘Taken away, that’s where. Lilith, Lucifer, and the Princes took those from us when we were born.’

‘They took your wings,’ Linda repeated, incredulous.

‘Yeah! And worst of all, they told us that we never had them in the first place to keep us under control. They told us that we didn’t have _souls_. But we do. They basically made us their slaves, Linda. Their own children. Just ‘cause they feared that we’d be more powerful than them and overthrow their tyrannical rule.’

‘Oh my god, that’s horrible,’ Linda exclaimed. ‘Even for Hell. And _Lucifer_ and your _mother_ did this? I’m so sorry, Maze.’

‘It was mostly her and the Princes, but he was definitely all for it,’ she said bitterly. ‘And he never told me! _Me_! I was his right hand. He had plenty of opportunities to tell me, but no, I had to find out from _Crowley_. I’ll never forgive him for that.’

‘Okay.’ Linda squeezed her shoulder. She took a deep breath to gather her thoughts. ‘Okay, listen, Maze. You’re angry with him, as you have every right to be—I mean, this is pretty serious. But please tell me that you didn’t do anything stupid, or aren’t going to.’

‘He has it coming, Linda. Don’t try to talk me out of it. It’s between me and him.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘You’re not going to—kill him though, right?’

‘No, I’m not _that_ much of an idiot. And I can’t even if I wanted to; he’s an Archangel,’ she snorted. They were known to be extremely hard to kill for good[4]. ‘I might be able to if I had those full Cambion powers Crowley talked about. But I don’t, and believe me, I tried. Can’t even move that stupid table, let alone annihilate someone.’

She gave the coffee table a very persuasive glare and tried to push it away. It didn’t do anything. She tried to snap her fingers like the Fallen sometimes did and command it to move. It still didn’t do anything. It would sooner start to mock her, probably.

 ** _You_** _have to fix it_ , Crowley’d said. _Self-actualisation_ , Crowley’d said. _Now that you know that it’s possible to be like us, you can be_ , Crowley’d said. Well, he was clearly an idiot. Knowing wasn’t enough, or something would have happened the first two hundred times she tried it.

* * *

1 Not even hard-boiled demons accustomed to spending hours in high heels whose sole purpose was to look amazing and attract attention—and also occasionally fighting in said high heels—were immune to their uncomfortableness and tendency to cause blisters. It’s been two days.[✿]

2 Trixie had felt particularly devilish that day and decided to embarrass her dad quite thoroughly before stepping in and pulling some silly faces on the baby. That apparently always worked, whether it was Linda and Amenadiel babysitting her or one of her parents babysitting Charlie.[✿]

3 She’d been to Las Vegas before, when she’d been on the right side of thirty and still together with Reese. They’d gone together, in fact. Oh, it’d been great, forgetting about everything else for at least a weekend. Now she had a son who has just started teething, and lived among angels and demons. A short vacation with her friend—friends, perhaps, if they could convince Chloe and Ella to join them—might really, really come in useful.[✿]

4 In fact, Azrael was entirely unkillable, being Death. You couldn’t kill Death. That kind of paradox just couldn’t exist; the whole Universe would collapse. As for the others, well. They were Azrael’s _siblings_. Not even their blade could kill them, as Uriel had corroborated. Hellfire or Holy Water would probably do it, but one couldn’t be too sure of that either; see: Crowley being immune to Holy Water even as a demon. Besides, Lucifer was his own special case, an angel ruling Hell and fluctuating between being Fallen, Risen, and somewhere in between depending on the year. Hellfire couldn’t hurt him, Holy Fire couldn’t hurt him… And then there were bondmates. Gabriel and Beelzebub could only die simultaneously, and so could Crowley and Aziraphale.[✿]


	74. Public Announcements

There were two facts that you needed to know about Lucifer.

One: he excelled at public speaking. Two: that did not necessarily mean that he particularly enjoyed giving those grand public announcements that transmitted straight to everyone’s brains and left all of Hell colossally displeased and experiencing headaches.

But as it happened, he found himself in a situation where he couldn’t put off giving one any longer. Beelzebub had been in the wind since Thursday—Heaven knew why, though if he were to guess, he’d bet it was Gabriel-related[1]—but if he wanted to get out as soon as possible, he had to speed things up with the elections and make the Lords work truly efficiently. Nothing helped boost productivity better than a deadline.

So he flew up to the Throne, sat down, and threw one leg over the other to give himself a sense of comfortableness on a stone chair that ranked somewhere among the top five most uncomfortable things to sit on, especially with the overwhelming and frankly invasive powers that came with it. He might be used to it, but it still was very much unpleasant.

He fixed his cuffs. Right. Give the announcement.

‘Demons of Hell, this is your King speaking,’ he said in a normal volume of voice, because everyone would hear him even if he were merely thinking it. Some demons who had previously been milling around the square grumbled and stopped to listen. They looked up. Demons everywhere else also grumbled and stopped what they were doing but had nowhere to look up to but the ceiling or the overcast sky.

‘By now, you have surely heard of the forming Infernal Parliament,’ he continued, ‘and the House of Lords, comprising the highest of the Fallen; the aristocracy of this realm. A parliament cannot be complete without a House of Commons, however, and this is where _you_ come in, my demon friends. Earlier today, we have _finally_ agreed on the terms and conditions of the electoral process, which are the following—and _very_ important, as you can probably tell by the annoying voice in your heads.

‘We’ve established that the House will consist of 300 members, half from the City of Dis and half from Pandæmonium[2]. That’s 150 seats from each, for those less proficient in maths. Furthermore, at least fifty of those _must_ belong to the Lilim. That’s another thing that’s changing around here—we cannot have true demoncracy without equality, can we? See what I did there? Demoncracy?’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway. I’m appealing to the Fallen in particular here—I’m the King and what I say goes, so don’t _dare_ question my choice in this regard. The Lilim make up most of our workforce, and it’s time we recognise them and their role in infernal society.

‘Now, today is the 26th of July according to the earthly calendar. You have until the 10th of August to register with Dagon, the Lord of Files, as candidates who will then enter the polling process and might eventually become members of parliament. The elections will take place at the end of August. It’s very fast, yes, I know. You can consider that a punishment for the rebellions. Anyone at all can apply, be they a Tempter, Torturer, Maintenance, Architect, or what have you. But remember—the early bird catches the worm, as they say. They who hesitate cannot get in.

‘Those 21 days will be used for campaigns. During that time, the candidates will have time to convince the rest of demonkind why they should represent them. I think you all know a bit about politics, so you get the gist of it; this is Hell, after all. If not, check an attached memory file later. For now, let me repeat: apply with Dagon by the 10th, either electronically or via paper form. Both versions will be available as of today, and the procedure _won’t_ be held up on purpose, that I promise you.’

It was in his own self-interest, after all, that it would be done _fast_.

‘Those held up in other queues will simply have to leave those and come back later, I’m afraid,’ he added. He finished the announcement with, ‘And one last thing: voting is not compulsory, but it’s in everyone’s best interest that you do so. Bad luck, demons. Lucifer out.’

Well, half-out. Before he forgot, he compressed more facts, ideas, and decisions about the elections and general workings of political systems in various countries or planets into a neat ZIP file in his head and hit the proverbial upload button. The next second, this knowledge was downloaded in every single demon’s brain and ready for use as if it has always been there.

It was like a very advanced mind cloud, that. Its only downside was that demons couldn’t do it among themselves—apart from bonded couples—because that would be _beyond_ useful. Like this, they had to rely on unreliable mail, the handful of computers, radio transmissions, newspapers that slowly became more grease and dirt than paper as they moved from hand to hand, and each other’s proclivity for chinwagging. Or on Lucifer to sit up there and do it himself.

Which was exhausting. Connecting to ten million minds at once would drain _anyone’s_ battery.

On the other hand, though, they’d undoubtedly use that power to spam each other’s mind inboxes with bad memes and other useless shite, so it was all well and good that they couldn’t, he supposed. He suppressed a yawn and flew back down.

That was done, then. The rest was up to them.

Hoping they wouldn’t be too idiotic and vote for the most moronic candidates on the list or otherwise fuck this up, he marched into the Starbucks and ordered a venti cup of espresso shots. What he’d really get he didn’t care, as long as it had caffeine in it and lacked stupid opinions.

Unlike the four demons who accosted him just as he was about to walk out and asked him about the parliament as if he hadn’t _just_ given them all the info. He told them to get lost and find someone else to ask because he was the King and very busy, and all but ran out of there.

He sought refuge in his office.

Frankly, he was still nervous about Maze. It had been six days, and nothing had happened so far, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t. He’d obtained her file from Dagon and kept it in his office so that any eventuality of miracle use could stay between it and him, but he knew better than anyone that something always went awry in Hell. That was no guarantee of the Secret being kept. Especially when Beelzebub knew.

Beelzebub, who wasn’t here.

He took his mobile and opened contacts. He scrolled to B and found the number for Beelzebub’s Office, half a mind to ring her. But he hesitated—and then scrolled back up and dialled Amenadiel instead, ignoring a voice in his head telling him that it might not be the brightest of ideas.

‘Hey, Luci, what’s up?’ his brother asked after about 94 seconds of screechy ringing[3]. He could hear the frown in his voice.

‘Hello, Amenadiel,’ he said, trying for nonchalance. He drank his dark and bitter coffee. ‘I’ve been wondering, has Maze been talking to you recently? Or to Linda?’

‘Maze? You mean after she came back from a five-day trip to Vegas that she forgot to mention to us and that she’s clearly gone on after Crowley told her something disturbing?’

‘Precisely,’ said Lucifer. As an afterthought, he added, ‘Although I didn’t know about Vegas. Good for her!’

He should visit again when he returned to Earth. The last time he’d been there was on a case with Miss Lopez, and did they have some fun! Fun was what he was sorely lacking in Hell, for rather obvious reasons. But he digressed.

‘Well, she’s upset with you,’ Amenadiel said. What he meant was _royally pissed off_.

‘Do you know why? Did she do something—Mazey stupid?’

‘No, Luci, I don’t know why[4]. I think she’s upset with me too simply because we’re related.’ He paused, no doubt to send the wall or whatever he was looking at a frowny, judgemental look that was really intended for Lucifer. ‘What did you _do_?’

‘Long story,’ Lucifer said evasively. He took another sip of coffee. ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now. Someone might overhear. Just tell me—she doesn’t have any powers and such, does she?’

‘She’s a Lilim; of course she doesn’t have powers,’ Amenadiel answered as if Lucifer were stupid for asking that question.

‘Right. As I thought. Perfect,’ he said. He’d certainly been hoping. He was only reassuring himself here, that was all.

He was halfway to ringing off when a thought from a completely different sphere occurred to him. ‘And Chloe? How is she? Tell her to call me again sometime, will you, brother.’

It had been a week ago, that call. He missed her more than ever.

‘Chloe’s as fine as she can be. I think she took Trixie to the beach today,’ said Amenadiel. ‘I’ll tell her when I see her. Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her too in no time. _And_ tell me what’s going on.’

Lucifer sighed. ‘I hope so. Hell is—well, Hell. But I’ve just given an announcement about the elections, so things will hopefully start moving somewhere now for real. Anyway, I’ve got to fly. More politics to deal with, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Yeah, same here, actually. Michael called me earlier and wanted my help with some administrative work. Apparently, Gabe has been on her case about it all week and then didn’t show up himself when he was supposed to. I should probably head Upstairs and check it out. And talk to her about—something she did.’

‘Prick,’ Lucifer scoffed. ‘Not that I’m a fan of Michael either, mind.’ He paused. ‘Great. Thanks.’

He rang off, drained most of the coffee, and got up. He went straight to the meeting room, where the Lords had been waiting since he went to make that announcement. If it could be called waiting, anyway, because what they were doing was more along the lines of sitting with their eyes closed, arguing, or setting each other’s clothes on fire. A demon or ten were lurking along the walls, too.

When he made his way to his seat at the head of the central table, accompanied by murmurs and sideways glances, he found it occupied—by none other than the suspiciously absent Prince.

‘You could’ve waited five minutes with that,’ she said matter-of-factly, not bothered about sitting in his chair at all[5]. ‘I’ve got some more big news for ya.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

Beelzebub hopped on top of the chair to make herself taller than Lucifer. ‘Silenzze! This iz important!’ she yelled at the Lords, who were still murmuring, and sometimes shouting, at each other. Some didn’t feel like obeying, but most of them calmed down at least somewhat.

‘I bring great news, demons. The Archangel Gabriel has Fallen.’

The entire chamber fell silent.

Lucifer broke that silence. ‘What in the name of the Seven Heavens…?’

* * *

1 She’d left rather abruptly right in the middle of a meeting, wearing an undecipherable expression that nonetheless betrayed a clenched jaw. She was a demon, and royalty at that, but that was still uncharacteristic of her. She took work seriously. One of those bonded-people states and telepathic conversations was the only explanation Lucifer could find—and of course, he was right.[✿]

2 Those were Hell’s only two cities. Dis was the capital, but Pandæmonium was bigger. All demons lived in those, and although they often worked in Hell Loops that stretched for miles and miles beyond them or observed the more unsavoury parts of the Nine Circles’ merciless nature—full of sinners’ souls too, of course—the landscape itself was inhabitable, and they had to commute. The distance between Dis and Pandæmonium was roughly equal to that between the UK and India. It took hours to travel them by wing and days on horseback. That was why Pandæmonium had its own Upper Management.[✿]

3 Terrible Hell connection. Ugh.[✿]

4 When Amenadiel came home around 3 a.m., he found Maze eating ice cream with bourbon and watching _One Day at a Time_ on Netflix. He asked where she’d been and what was going on, but she made it very clear that she didn’t want to talk to him. He asked Linda as they were making breakfast later. She told him about Vegas, and that it was about something bad Crowley told her Lucifer and some other demons had done, but not more than that. He’d give Maze space—but he was still Concerned.[✿]

5 To be fair, he didn’t care either.[✿]


	75. Just Ironic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be clear, the last one took place on Saturday but here we're going back to Thursday and Friday.

‘The choice is—I can’t just—’ Gabriel’s hands swept through his hair. He pointed an index finger at Beelzebub’s face. ‘You know what, I’m going. Don’t follow me.’

He blinked and thought himself inside the house, because that was faster than trying to figure out where he was and jog back, inevitably followed by her. He appeared in the kitchen, as he’d expected.

He hadn’t anticipated the feeling that the miracle left behind. A cold, hollow, draining cavity. It felt like something jagged was scraping at his insides and licking at his essence. It should be warm and soothing like God’s Grace, not—not whatever this was. Fuck, miracles were supposed to feel _wonderful_.

He gripped the back of a nearby chair and drew in a sharp breath. It came out shaky. He clenched his jaw and gripped the chair even tighter. Something wet and hot was going on around his eyes, but he concentrated most of his willpower on suppressing it.

The last time he cried was after the War had ended and his bondmate and two brothers had Fallen.

Wasn’t that just _ironic_.

He grabbed the chair and flung it against the floor with all his might. It shattered into pieces.

He stared at it. He was just so—so _angry_ , with Crowley and Lucifer and God and Beelzebub and _himself_. How could this have _happened_? Why did the memories have to come back and ruin everything for him? Why did he have to find out who Crowley was? Why did he—why did he have to have _questions_? It had been so simple before. Do paperwork, prepare for war, smite evil. His job had been straightforward and hadn’t allowed much room for thoughts and doubts.

Then he’d decided to punish the traitors without the approval of a higher authority, and it had all gone downhill from there. Quite literally.

He grabbed another chair, intending to make it meet the same unfortunate fate as the first one. A hand on his shoulder stopped him. He whipped around and caught Beelzebub’s hand. ‘I told you not to follow me,’ he said, thunder in his voice.

His eyes still betrayed pain and overflowing lachrymal ducts.

‘Would it really be so bad if you ruled by my side?’ Beelzebub asked, unexpectedly gentle. She still wanted him to. She foolishly wanted him to ever since Lucifer had proposed the idea of someone else taking over the reins, even though he’d told her no several times over.

Well. The delight she took in his Fall disgusted him. He let go of her hand and said, ‘You’re asking me to be the King of Hell again? You’re starting to sound desperate, honey. I can’t be the King of Hell in case you didn’t notice.’

She slapped him.

‘Snap out of it!’ she shouted. ‘There’s nothing else you can be, Gabriel. You’re not an angel anymore, and it would take _years_ , maybe even _centuries_ for you to be able to get back. Where do you want to be? This cabin in the middle of nowhere? Or playing at a manager of some big human company? You can do that in Hell; at least you’d be among your own kind. Or did you forget who came up with the idea of the parliament?’

For once, he was speechless. She smirked. ‘That’s right. You’re already involved, whether you like it or not.’

He wanted to hit her back. He wanted to strike her down and smite her for everything she’d done to him. If he’d never got involved, he might—

He didn’t do any of that. Instead, he slumped against the table and let out a sob and a curse. There lay the irony: they were bonded for life, and thus also bonded for death. He couldn’t destroy her without also destroying himself.

‘I know the feeling,’ Beelzebub said. ‘Trust me. I’ve gone through it twice now. And so have you.’

Yeah. Only he’d chosen to forget the first.

‘What do you _want_ from me, Bee?’ he asked, even though he ultimately knew the answer to that question. Him to rule Hell instead of Lucifer, right? But why? What was in it for her? Why should he do anything for her anymore?

‘Right now, I want you to get to bed and get your wings out.’

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. ‘Er, what?’

‘Do as I say, idiot.’

He still felt empty and exhausted. The idea of sitting in bed was an appealing one, mostly because it was something neutral, something normal, something he didn’t have to devote too much mental energy to. His legs lifted him up and took him to the bedroom. He took off his jacket and sat on the side of the bed.

 _The polo neck too,_ she thought-said. _And the glamour concealing the marks on your back. Dissolve it._

He stiffened. ‘I don’t wanna—’

‘You’ll have to face it sooner or later,’ she said.

She walked around the bed and scrambled to sit behind him. She rolled up the polo neck herself and forced him to take it off. Resigned, he materialised his wings. As soon as he did so, he could see through her eyes the final proof that it really happened. That he really Fell.

All along his spine ran a series of lightning-like markings. They’d always been there. But before, they’d glimmered golden and shown off his angelic holiness. Now they were—

 _Red and black_ , Beelzebub finished. She traced them with a finger. _Almost like burns._

She pressed a kiss on one of the marks on his nape and reached between the feathers of his right primary wing. He sighed. If it was closer to a moan than a sigh, well. It’s been a while since anyone preened them.

‘They’re your badges of honour. They show that you’re one of us; that you chose a side of your own free will and don’t dwell on the words your Daddy told you two million years ago. That you’re free. Wear them with pride.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he scoffed. ‘You’ve been a demon this entire time. You rebelled. I—’

‘Didn’t you?’

‘Well— _vaguely_ , perhaps, but not like _you_ ,’ he retorted[1]. ‘Not that I’m complaining right now, but seriously, why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?’

Her hands clenched in his feathers. It stung. ‘Because you weren’t there for me!’ she shouted. ‘No one was there for any of us. We were alone and in agony, and no one gave us comfort because we were demons, unworthy of anything _nice_. But it’s not that bad when you get used to it. We survived. We thrived more than we ever could in Heaven. Because maybe sometimes we’re better than the holier-than-thou arseholes Upstairs.’

 _You could’ve been, but you weren’t_ , was what she didn’t say out loud. _You could’ve even been the King this entire time. But you chose that—and look where you ended up anyway. And what does it say, eh, that I’m trying to help you because I know how awful it is? I could throw you—I **should** throw you out, set you on fire, and let you work shit out. I went through that, and you didn’t bat an eye. Think it speaks fucking volumes._

‘Please continue,’ Gabriel all but whined. On a less superficial level, he was pondering everything she said even though he rather wouldn’t. She was only too right. He didn’t like it when she was right.

She said, ‘If you speak a word of this—’

‘Ditto.’

She huffed and continued to massage the tense, aching muscles of his wings. Her touch was familiar, and having one’s wings preened always felt all sorts of wonderful. His essence almost felt warm again. It was the closest to feeling whole that he could get.

He let her work on his wings for hours.

Then he did hers, too, which took even more hours because she had a pair more than he did. But that was good. When he focused on her wings and his own wings feeling good in consequence, he didn’t have time to Think.

He also became quite hard, which Beelzebub noticed, and one thing led to another.

Sex didn’t feel the same either. The bond would always take it to another level, but it was as if his desire was rawer, more carnal, more _urgent_. Like needing to turn the pain into pleasure and fill the emptiness[2].

Well into the next day’s afternoon, Beelzebub propped her chin in the palm of her hand and studied his naked, dark-haired body that still didn’t bother to breathe. She said, ‘You know the Throne responds to whoever sits on it. It’s Lucifer’s Hell now, damp and dark, but you could make it yours. And you’d be perfect for the position. It’s mostly paperwork and telling demons off, which I’m sure you’d enjoy.’

Yeah. She still didn’t stop thinking about that. Neither did Gabriel, thanks to her.

He rolled his head to look at her. ‘Paperwork and telling demons off?’

‘Mmhm. And we don’t frown upon making an example of traitors like Michael’s bunch.’

He didn’t say anything about covering the failure of said making an example up just like Heaven, in the exact same way, and it ending up biting them in the ass eventually. He still disagreed with Michael’s new policies. Although—it was her Heaven now. He no longer needed to care.

‘I mean.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s a job, right? Keeps you busy. And demons listen to whatever you say.’

‘Usually. You can always fire them if they don’t[3],’ she said gleefully. ‘The thing is, Lucifer’s gone native too. He hasn’t got the same authority anymore, and he wants out. Look at the rebellions. I say there needs to be a change in management.’

‘There is. The parliament,’ he reminded her.

‘ _Other than that_. You know what I mean. And you know I’m right.’

He folded his hands on his belly and stared at the ceiling. He said, ‘Well, Lucifer _is_ quite incompetent. Everyone knows you’ve gotta take responsibility if you want to be a good boss. Have _I_ ever not done my job? No. I _love_ my job.’

‘And you lost it,’ Beelzebub stated with a light snort. ‘You were too arrogant and ambitious for your own good. In Hell… ambitions can grow unlimited. The King has abs— _almost_ absolute power. No orders. No God. You’re in charge.’

He let her words sink in for a minute. She was right about one thing: he did have nowhere else to go. Or, well, two things. He was _damn_ good at paperwork, too.

‘Fine, I’ll—think about it. I’ll consider it.’

She raised her eyebrows, self-satisfied. ‘Shall I ask what he thinks?’

Gabriel whipped his head to look at her, scowling. ‘But he’d—’

‘Know, obviously, dumbass.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Everyone will sooner or later. Upstairs’ll notice you’re _missing_ , for one.’

Ah. Right. Fuck. Michael would come looking for him, no doubt, and teleport straight inside the house. She wouldn’t like what she’d find. And she’d tell everyone because she was chatty. First Crowley, and now—and now him. Doing the opposite.

‘Perhaps tomorrow. Give me some more time to think,’ he said. He rolled on top of her and kissed her. A hand slipped between her legs. First, he needed _not_ to think.

* * *

1 One might even say that he followed his brother’s steps and sauntered vaguely downwards.[✿]

2 It was undoubtedly some of the best sex he’s had in his life though. Just to be clear.[✿]

3 With Hellfire, naturally. Right into the discorporation queue. Or straight into oblivion, depending on who they were and what precisely they’d done.[✿]


	76. Post Bellum, Auxilium

‘You heard me,’ Beelzebub said, crossing her arms.

Lucifer was rarely speechless. Right now, he was incapable of doing much more than repeating her words back at her and everyone else that was unfortunately present in the room. ‘Gabriel has Fallen. _Gabriel_.’

She gave him a Look. ‘Yes. Is it really that hard to believe?’

Much to the bewilderment of half the demons in the room, Beelzebub included, he burst out laughing.

‘Quite the opposite!’ he said, still chuckling. He slowly clapped his hands. ‘Oh, what beautiful irony of fate. For so long he looked down on us until he finally went down with us. _Well done_!’

Beelzebub jumped down. She was still giving him a Look, but this one leant slightly towards the inscrutably surprised side. Somewhere in the third row on the left, Dagon cleared her throat and asked her, ‘And you got that information how?’

All at once, the demons seemed to wake from their stunned trance and began shouting over one another. Lucifer put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. That shocked some of them into falling silent again. A certain bat demon sitting in the front row hurriedly covered his ears, all but discorporating.

‘Do tell them, Prince Beelzebub,’ Lucifer said, beaming rather smugly.

She stared at him. Then at them. Then she shoved her hands into her pockets and sighed. ‘Ugh, fine. We’ve obviously been bonded this entire time, and you’re all _dumb_.’

Several things were called out at once. A few cries of the word _traitor_ came from the back rows. One of the Crowley sympathisers called her a hypocrite. Someone actually agreed that they were dumb and oh, how could we forget, we’ve been at the ceremony. Marquis Samigina exclaimed, ‘That’s why you were trying for the Throne!’ Duke Dantalion expressed demonically permissible amounts of sympathy for her going through the experience of Falling for the second time. Most strikingly, though, Prince Mammon said, ‘So you were slowly corrupting and seducing the Archangel over the years and trying to get him to join our cause—and have succeeded at last!’

‘Yes!’ Beelzebub replied immediately. It was obviously a lie. ‘Yes, that’s precisely what I’ve been doing. Well done, Mammon, you figured out my devious intents!’

Lucifer generally disapproved of lies, but he was also a firm believer in upholding one’s reputation and name by almost any means necessary, so he said nothing and let her and the rest of Hell have this. He couldn’t afford her losing her position over shagging his idiotic brother; she was too important and _bad_ for that. Everyone made stupid and weird choices sometimes, and demons in particular[1].

Gabriel got what he deserved, anyway. Not that—not that Lucifer wished Falling on anyone. He knew how horrible it was, and how even more horrible were the consequences. But if Gabriel self-actualised into becoming a demon because he couldn’t learn his lesson the easy way, who was he to argue?

He didn’t like him, in case that wasn’t clear. Never had. It was mutual.

‘It’s not like someone can get _un_ bonded though, right?’ called Aamon, scowling at those who’d previously deemed her a traitor and drawing Lucifer’s attention. He was one of the few bonded to another demon since they were both angels, so he’d know what he was talking about.

‘Unfortunately,’ said Beelzebub. This time, Lucifer believed she meant it. Gabriel could be a lot. ‘And yes, that’s why I was trying for the Throne, but it didn’t work. Now you know the truth. I won’t be accepting criticism—and anyone who tries so will find themselves fired and placed on Hellhound shit-cleaning duty. Are we fucking clear?’

They were.

Lucifer said, ‘I’d take her word for it. Now—what precisely is the takeaway here? For Hell, I mean.’

‘I believe we need to discuss that in private,’ she said. She turned to the demons. ‘If you’d kindly fuck off now. Tell whoever you want; I don’t care.’

She made eye contact with Dagon and raised a suggestive eyebrow. Dagon raised both back and gave her a significant look. Beelzebub gave a short nod. The entire exchange reminded Lucifer of bonded-couple telepathy. It was weird and kind of intriguing[2].

The demons weren’t immediately packing up and fucking off. Lucifer shouted, ‘Yes, go away, what are you waiting for?’

Once they _finally_ did, he sat in his chair and made Beelzebub take her own. He sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. ‘You came here, announcing it for all of Hell and eventually Heaven to hear, meaning he’s not hiding. There’s a plan. What is it?’

‘If you still feel like bailing and appointing someone else, he’d be up for it,’ she said simply.

Lucifer chuckled and shook his head. ‘Thought as much. Begging for forgiveness, is he? Apologising for how he treated—or rather _didn’t_ treat his own brother and finally stepping up? Now that it’s all bloody dealt with and he’s no longer needed? _Post bellum, auxilium._ Right.’

He was stepping up though. Possibly. Giving him an out. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted before? For literally any of his siblings to take over? He wasn’t sure about _Gabriel_ , but it would _finally_ relieve him of the tedious responsibility of managing the idiots down here and allow him to permanently move to Los Angeles. If he really was serious… well, gift horse and all.

‘You know he’s not,’ Beelzebub said, in a way that suggested he was insane for even entertaining the idea. ‘He doesn’t care. It took me two days and a lot of appealing to his ego to even make him consider it. He just wants a job and someone to give orders to, and being King of Hell certainly gives him more of an opportunity to do that than his old messenger post in the land of stuck-up holy sycophants. And it sets _you_ free so you can go off to gallivant with your human and leave behind what you rebelled for and fought so hard to build.’

She was giving him a bit of a mixed message there. She wanted Gabriel to take over, but at the same time, she was being passive-aggressive about him wanting to leave?

‘You think that I rebelled for _this_? That I asked for _this_?’ He gestured around himself. ‘Maybe you enjoy it here, Beelzebub, maybe it’s where _you_ belong, but not me. And even this parliament—it means I’m _done_. I could handle coming to a meeting once a month, but I was never going to stay here. So if Gabe wants it, then by all means, he can have at it.’

She tapped her fingers against the table for a tense minute and then finally brought herself to say, ‘Great! Then that’s sorted.’

‘Gabriel in Hell. Well I’ll be bloody damned.’

Also, he needed a drink. Preferably of good quality and high alcohol content. So would everyone else once it happened, he reckoned.

‘ _He_ was,’ Beelzebub said, something between a scoff and a snort.

‘Looks like we both got what we wanted,’ Lucifer noted. ‘Finally made good on that promise, did he?’ Beelzebub’s eyes widened for a second. ‘Believe it or not, he’d told me about it, back before—“I don’t like you and I don’t agree with you, but if you drag her down with you then help me Father, I’m going to go with her and then I’m going to make you pay”, he said. Or something like that. But love turned to disgust very quickly, and he never went. Until now.’

She frowned. Her flies flew more agitatedly. ‘If you say you’re _sorry_ , I’m going to tear you in half with my dagger.’

He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Noted. So er, how does it work, precisely? I’d prefer to get out as soon as possible.’

‘We’ll talk about it, I’ll drag him here, and then we’ll see what happens. Can’t tell you much more than that,’ she said. ‘He kind of blames you, by the way, and the Serpent too. Thinks that the memories were the cause of his downfall rather than his own charming personality. It might get ugly.’

‘Of course he does,’ Lucifer scoffed. ‘Everyone blames someone else for their misfortune. It’s easier than dealing with it, trust me, I’d know[3].’

‘Oh, I know. You spent two million years whining about Daddy being mean to you; it was fucking annoying. Full offence. You’re basically retired, means I can say what I want.’

‘Prince Beelzebub, I will miss you,’ he said, ironically sweet. ‘If you promise not to murder any humans, you’re invited to drop by LUX and have a drink with me— _without_ the flies and the husband. Although Maze might maim and almost kill you because of the secret, so maybe not.’

He’d have to deal with that when he came back and inevitably crossed paths with her again. Oh well. But better an arse-kicking than being stuck here for a month longer. He’d see Chloe. It’d be worth it.

‘You might want to brief Gabe on that and tell him to handle it, while we’re at it.’

‘Yes, because that will go extremely well,’ she drawled. ‘One ginormous problem at a time, boss.’

‘I suppose I have to agree.’ He slammed his hands on the armrests of his chair. ‘Now—are you ready to face the election craziness that has inevitably already arisen and made our jobs even more complicated?’

She sighed. ‘I’ll go sort shit out with Dagon. I’m going back up tomorrow though. I can’t leave that moron unsupervised in this state. We have even _more_ shit to sort out.’

Lucifer grinned. ‘How romantic.’

She gave him the bird and got up, creakily. She and her swarm of flies and fly-adjacent insects left the meeting room and left Lucifer to his thoughts.

King of Hell Gabriel. Well, that was bound to be interesting, and either a complete disaster or a complete disaster but dressed in light colours. He could be much, much worse than Lucifer. More efficient. Crueller. Or he could make a second Heaven out of the place, depending on where his mind was currently at. Either way, it was going to be organised, demons were going to hate it, and it wasn’t going to be Lucifer’s problem anymore.

So far it was though. He might not see the elections through, but demons didn’t know that, and it _had_ been his idea, so he still had to deal with it. On top of that, the rumour mill was going to hit maximum velocity, _and_ he had to get his shit in order before he left. Write down everything he needed Beelzebub to tell Gabriel to do, first and foremost.

If he even showed up and didn’t change his mind. Anything was possible. Unfortunately. It was best not to get one’s hopes up too high in Hell, as everyone would tell you.

Still. Things were, maybe, at least for him, starting to look up. Pun fully intended.

* * *

1 Although she’d been an angel when she’d first developed a liking for him. There was no accounting for taste, he supposed. Arsehole birds of a feather flocked together or something.[✿]

2 “Even Heaven.” “Really? You want me to call Upstairs?” “Yes, really. Do it.”

In other words, after being stuck together for two million years and being less stuck together and more being openly friendly with each other for several million before that, you developed an ability to communicate without words. Especially when you were ethereal-turned-occult beings and had more senses than your average mortal.[✿]

3 Gabriel probably needed therapy more than any of them, he thought. He wouldn’t wish him on poor Doctor Linda though. Or anyone else. If he could even get him to listen for five seconds and actually _hear_ what he was saying about needing therapy in the first place.[✿]


	77. Falling Apart

The mobile slipped out of Michael’s hand and dropped to the floor before Dagon even rang off. Michael quickly followed suit, although she only dropped onto the sofa, which had conveniently repositioned itself. She gasped.

She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

Gabriel had Fallen. _Fallen_.

She lost another sibling.

What was more, Dagon _dared_ to gloat over it straight to her face[1]. Michael knew demons and their twisted ways, but this was—this was too much. This was a personal tragedy. Which the fiend knew all too bloody well, and that made it bloody _worse_.

It felt like a punch to the gut. She desperately wanted to punch back, but nowhere in her body could she find the strength to move. It was as if she was frozen on the spot and her body and soul refused to cooperate. All at once, she remembered how she’d felt the first time around and why she’d preferred to forget.

Semi-conscious, she brought forth the smallest of her wings and cocooned herself from the rest of the world. Tears welled up out of her eyes. She let them.

She couldn’t say if minutes or hours had passed when someone knocked on the door and jerked her back into reality. It kick-started her instincts. She folded her wings and prepared to reach for her sword.

‘Michael?’ called Hamaliel’s distressed voice from the other side of the door. Michael’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’ve got some—some bad news. I thought I should let you know immediately. May I come in?’

With a thought, Michael opened the door. She wiped her face dry and immaculate. There was no point in it though, because they’d already seen her. They stopped dead in their tracks, and then they hurried towards her and flopped down next to her.

‘You already know,’ they stated.

‘Dagon had the _audacity_ to _laugh about it_ ,’ she said, furious. She turned her head to them. Though they were never partial to Gabriel themself, their wise old eyes were overflowing with concern and compassion.

‘Gabriel and I didn’t always see eye to eye,’ she continued, a touch softer. ‘Look at what happened last week. Lord knows we criticised each other and disagreed with each other all the time, especially after the—but he was the only one I had left, Hamaliel. He was always here. The others, they were either Fallen or off somewhere else, but him I could count on. And now he’s gone too. I truly am alone.’

‘No,’ they reassured her. They took her hand. ‘It’s devastating, one of the Archangels Falling, and I can’t say I’m not shaken, but there’s ten million of us. There’s me. Your siblings aren’t gone, Michael. Gabriel isn’t gone. You can still see him whenever you so wish. It’s not the end of the world.’

‘It’s not the same anymore,’ she said. ‘You don’t have siblings. You wouldn’t understand[2].’

‘I lost people after the War,’ they returned sharply, withdrawing their hand. ‘People I loved. One of them I forgot, and another didn’t even Fall but wasn’t there all the same. Don’t tell me what I would and wouldn’t understand.’

Michael let out a heavy sigh. She knew what they were implying there. No need to remind her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She wiped another escaping tear and chuckled bitterly. ‘Do you know what’s the saddest thing? I know Gabriel better than anyone. I know what he’s like, and I’m—not surprised. In all honesty, the only thing I’m somewhat surprised about is that it hadn’t happened earlier. But despite all that, I still didn’t see it coming. He was here three days ago, we were talking about the survey, and now he’s—’

Fallen. A demon.

She knew that she could see him anytime if _he_ would want to see _her_ , but she wouldn’t see him walking down these streets anymore. Or at least not anytime soon. He could Rise again, of course. They knew that now. But as she’d said, she knew him better than anyone, and that entailed knowing that it would take him much longer than it had taken Amenadiel to do so.

And if that weren’t enough, everything was up to her now. She was fully in charge. She was on her own.

Oh, the amounts of _paperwork_.

‘No, _I’m_ sorry, Michael,’ said Hamaliel. ‘Can I hug you? I heard it can be therapeutic.’

She nodded, a corner of her lips briefly ticking upwards. They stretched out their arms and leant toward her, waiting for her to return the embrace. She wrapped her arms around them, slightly stiff and awkward at first—but their aura was so warm and calming that all remaining tension dissipated from her muscles and she relaxed against their bony frame, chin on their shoulder.

‘I see the plants I gave you are still alive,’ they remarked, facing the wall where a monstera and a snake plant stood, green and ironic in their names. ‘Well done.’

It was hard to kill a plant in four days, especially in Heaven, she reckoned. In spite of that, she did try with them[3], and she certainly appreciated the diversion. But her mind spiralled back to Gabriel, herself, and everyone else faster than you could say _Dracaena trifasciata_.

‘Amenadiel warned me. He said that if I wasn’t careful, I might— _I_ might Fall. And although he wasn’t saying it, I know that he was worried that either of the three of us might. I could scarcely bear the thought of it, but it should have been me. If someone were to face the consequences of their actions, it should have been me.’

Gabriel was nowhere near perfect. He was hardly innocent. Those were facts. But everything he did had always been for Heaven and what he’d thought was God’s Plan. He loved their home more than anything. He’d cast out his bondmate—but she’d cast out two of their brothers and chosen a path of wilful ignorance. He’d fixed the relationship with Beelzebub. Michael hadn’t fixed hers.

Hamaliel pulled back but held onto her shoulders. They looked her in the eye. ‘This will be difficult to hear,’ they said, ‘but that’s precisely why it wasn’t. You both did the same things and followed the same orders. We _all_ did. But you’re learning, and what you’ve just said is proof. He’s—he’s unapologetically him, and that’s what’s led to his downfall.’

‘He loves Prince Beelzebub,’ Michael whispered. ‘What he did to her has changed him. He hasn’t been a true angel since[4]. I know. I suppose there is consolation in the fact that at least he’s with her now—but I still wish he were here. Crowley and Lucifer Rose, and he had to Fall. It’s not fair.’

And she was repeating his words, she realised.

‘There haven’t been seven Archangels since the War,’ Hamaliel remarked. They let go of her and raked one hand through their hair. Their flitting eyes told her that they came up with a hypothesis. ‘Until two weeks ago. I suppose the Universe always has a way of finding balance.’

Michael blinked in slight bafflement. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There always has to be an Archangel in Hell. An Arch _demon_. Lucifer doesn’t belong there anymore, and neither does Crowley or any of the rest of you. The last Archdemon has Risen. But Hell, it’s—volatile. Just two weeks later, another one Falls. Think about it. Why did God give us the Great Plan? Why did everything lead us here? Why did we regain the lost memories at this precise moment in time? It could be a coincidence, but it might not be,’ they theorised.

‘You think that it was meant to happen? That this is a part of God’s Plan? That he is to, what—’

‘Well, it’s ineffable, isn’t it, Her Plan?’

‘—be the King of Hell?’

That was preposterous. He’d been remarkably vocal about being the _last one_ to assume that position when the offer had been on the table.

‘He isn’t altruistic enough to want to help Lucifer, but he does have the ambitions and the claim,’ they said. ‘I think it’s entirely possible.’

Michael sucked in a breath and instinctively reached for the decorative pillow behind her. She clutched at it. ‘But that would mean that we’d—’

Stand against each other. Formally and officially and, if there ever was a war, on the battlefield. The King of Hell was Heaven’s nemesis. Of course, it had always been Lucifer sitting there. That was fairly straightforward. That suited her. But if that post went to _Gabriel_ , who was now a _demon_ and therefore also an enemy by definition—it didn’t bear thinking about.

Before she even had time to register it, Hamaliel was hugging her again, a hand grazing the back of her neck. ‘It puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’ they said. ‘Not that I—’

‘I know what you mean,’ she sighed. She didn’t like it. But it was true. It was no different with Crowley and Lucifer, in the end. They were still her siblings too, and angels no less. If Gabriel Fell, it meant he was just as guilty as them. Such were the rules.

But she didn’t see him that way.

‘I wonder how different things would be if we remembered,’ she mused, sniffling.

‘It’s not for us to wonder. It happened.’

‘We collectively fucked up. I won’t with Gabriel. I won’t abandon him only because he’s Fallen. And I’m going to make it right with Crowley,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘And Lucifer. Not now, but—one day, perhaps. It’s no different. No—it _is_ different, but only in the fact that I’d hurt and cast out the two myself.’

They pulled away and pulled their legs up, so they were now sitting cross-legged. ‘Exactly. What makes an enemy of Lucifer and Crowley but a sibling who happened to Fall of Amenadiel and Gabriel?’ They paused dramatically. ‘It’s only in the mind.’

Michael allowed herself to lean back on the sofa. She was still holding the pillow. ‘I’m going to have to tell them. Amen and Uriel. I’m sure Azrael already knows, but Uriel—oh, they’ll be devastated. They don’t even know about Crowley Rising.’

‘Ah, they do. The two of them had drinks again[5],’ said Hamaliel. Michael whipped her head around and gave them a look. ‘What? I’m friends with Rae too.’

She cleared her throat. That wasn’t what she meant. She let it slide and asked, ‘What did they say?’

‘What do you think? They’re not back yet, are they.’

She hummed. Uriel was… complicated. In addition to all that, they were probably still upset with _her_ , and with Gabriel, which in turn upset Michael because she missed them too, damn it. Nothing has been the same since Armageddoff. And if Crowley, the memories, and the new policies weren’t enough, now _Gabriel_ wasn’t coming back. She didn’t know if they’d return to the Silver City within this century at this rate.

For a while, she just sat there and stared at the wall, thinking and soaking up Hamaliel’s calming energy. She knew what she had to do. That didn’t mean it was easy.

She had to go and see Crowley again. To tell him about Gabriel and really apologise. If they were to move on and do better, they needed to talk—and now more than ever, it seemed.

* * *

1 Or, well, ear. Demons didn’t possess devices capable of video calls yet, in both senses of the word.[✿]

2 Actually, they both did and didn’t. One might argue that all Virtues were technically siblings, cut from the same cloth and very much born on the same day. That was true. One might also argue that unlike the Archangels, they were merely thought into existence, so there were no blood relations between them and the relationships couldn’t be compared. That was also true. It depended on the individual’s viewpoint, really.[✿]

3 She tried talking to them when she watered them yesterday. She felt utterly ridiculous. That probably needed a bit more practice. But overall, the plants didn’t hate staying with her and seemed to be getting used to the place, and she was getting used to them too. They did make her quarters look a bit… homier.[✿]

4 Literally.[✿]

5 They still haven’t relocated, so it was easy for Azrael to find them when they happened to be collecting a soul on Xandar. Once they heard that all of their siblings and even Hamaliel already knew, they deemed it unfair that Uriel should be the only one kept in the dark, _again_ , and told them. Neither of them could really get drunk, but drinks were most definitely involved before and after.[✿]


	78. Tea, Wine, and Second Chances

The Archangel Michael was standing in Crowley and Aziraphale’s driveway. That alone would be cause for some serious, brow-knitting concern. But she was also smiling at the Bentley and perhaps even at its owner, with a smile that tiptoed on the line between genuineness and threat, and that absolutely did not bode well for them.

Crowley turned the car off but didn’t get out. Neither did Aziraphale. They stared at her through the window, equally stunned-slash-vexed and not exactly knowing how to proceed.

She decided for them when she approached the car and knocked on said window. ‘Crowley, Aziraphale,’ she said, clasping her hands behind her back. ‘Might I inquire where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour.’

They shared a Look, sunglasses notwithstanding. Aziraphale reached for the shopping bags on the backseat and miraculously located a bottle of red. It hadn’t previously had a screw cap, but it quickly changed its mind and accommodated to the situation, which very much required it to open easily and immediately. He took a hearty gulp and passed it to Crowley. He took one as well, put on his best cocky grin, and said, ‘Yeah, we’ve been at this secret angel-demon cult meeting, plotting to take over the heavenly government and establish a rule of total anarchy.’

He did _not_ roll down the window. Or owe her a fucking explanation. She should be glad that he didn’t immediately run her over with his car, honestly[1].

She blinked. ‘Oh?’

Crowley abruptly opened the door and forced her to step back. He slammed it and took another swig from the bottle. Aziraphale got out on the other side and picked up the bags, because of course he did. Crowley said, ‘Nah, just did the shopping. Restocking the tea cupboard and the wine cellar and—stuff. Now, you have about five seconds to explain what the fuck you’re doing here, and know that I’ve got this bottle and aren’t afraid to introduce it to your very white outfit and very smooth face.’

She unclasped her hands and drew her sword.

Suddenly on high alert, Crowley gritted his teeth and readied himself and the bottle for an attack. Behind him, Aziraphale stopped dead in tracks, baguettes sticking out of the bags[2] and all.

‘Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.’

She jabbed the sword into the ground.

At this point, Crowley was beginning to get confused. He didn’t cease pointing the bottle at her. It wouldn’t stand a real chance in a fight, he knew that, but he couldn’t back down. Confidence was everything.

‘I don’t want to fight,’ she said. She pointed at it. It was a sad imitation of Excalibur, stuck in grass and easily pulled out again. ‘I’m burying the sword.’

‘Think you’re supposed to bury the hatchet,’ he jibed. ‘And is that meant to impress me? After what you pulled the last time? Seriously, Michael, give me _one_ reason why I should give you another second of my time.’

‘I forgive you,’ she said, and, okay, that did knock the wind out of him. A little. ‘I don’t expect you to forgive me, especially after what I did, and we don’t ever have to talk again if that is what you wish, but I would deeply appreciate it if you heard me out.’

Crowley pressed his lips together, furrowed his brow, and lowered the bottle a tad. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know _what_ to say.

Aziraphale took it upon himself to do so instead, possibly to ease the tension brewing in the air. He shifted the bags in his hands and said, somewhat awkwardly, ‘Why don’t we take this inside?’

Crowley whipped his entire body around and gave him another Look. _Really, angel?_ he think-said. _What the fuck._

 _No need to be crass, dear. She did the—the sword thing. And she clearly has something to say. It would be rude not to let her in and offer tea._ Crowley opened his mouth to speak. His thoughts were faster. _I **know** what happened in LA. Regardless. You should talk._

Crowley huffed. He turned back around and jerked his head towards the door in lieu of invitation. Aziraphale went inside first, and Michael followed suit. Crowley drank from the bottle again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sauntered after them. Aziraphale was too bloody kind for his own good sometimes.

‘Tea?’ Aziraphale asked, true to his acquired Britishness, as he placed the shopping onto the worktop. His eyes spotted the remaining five bottles they’d bought. ‘Or wine?’

The open one landed next to them. Crowley leant on the table and crossed his arms crossly. From behind the shield of his sunglasses, he watched her like a hawk—or like a snake, perhaps, because he _was_ a snake, might look at another snake that was trespassing in his territory. She stood in front of the window, hands clasped in front of her this time and said, ‘I’d like to try some green tea if you’d be so kind.’

Crowley raised his eyebrows up high. That was unexpected. And still very suspicious. Especially the politeness. But also the tea.

Well, it had something to do with Hamaliel, he reckoned. They’d had green tea. The two of them were talking again. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t eaten some of that wedding cake, the _white part_. That was memorable. But still.

‘Er. Of course.’ Equally puzzled at this point, Aziraphale filled the kettle and put it on. ‘What brings you here then?’

Crowley was grateful for him and his buffering presence. He didn’t _understand_ this unbridled kindness sometimes, especially towards the Archangels, but he was grateful for it. He could feel it calming him as it spread from that little piece of Aziraphale in his soul. If it were just Crowley and Michael, they’d be yelling at each other at this point. He was sure of it.

‘Before I say anything, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what I did in LA. It was wrong and foolish of me. I understand that you wish to remain here on Earth and respect that wish. I won’t say another word about it. And Aziraphale,’ she turned to him. ‘I’d also like to apologise to you one more time. We’ve treated you badly and wanted to execute you without even a trial. That’s inexcusable. It was utterly wrong, and no angel should be treated in such a way, regardless of how competent or incompetent they are. Heaven ought to be a place of love, tolerance, and kindness—but Gabriel acted out of his own pride and arrogance, and the rest of us deliberately chose not to question him. That was wrong. You, Aziraphale, are quite—strange, yes, and you will probably never grow on me, but you just may be more of an angel than any of us.’

Aziraphale’s cheeks went slightly pink. He didn’t know whether to look at her, Crowley, or the shopping. ‘That’s, erm. That’s.’

_Better than what you said last time._

_Heard that_ , Crowley transmitted back. _Ugh_.

He continued to glower. He did acknowledge that she’d acknowledged what he’d said though.

‘Thank you,’ Aziraphale finally said out loud. ‘It’s nice of you to realise it. You’re only, oh, six thousand years behind? And might I add, we’d both agreed that you were to steer clear of this place, so how about you finally get to the very important thing that warranted breaking that agreement, hmm?’

_Okay, I was wrong, angel. **Nice**._

He threw Crowley a delighted little glance and a fleeting smile.

Michael threw _him_ a rather sterner one but chose not to comment on that. She took a deep breath and turned to Crowley again. ‘First of all… Gabriel knows.’

Crowley shook his head and scoffed. Internally, he was swearing a blue streak. ‘‘Course you can’t even respect the _one_ bloody request I asked of you. What else could I have expected, eh?’

‘This was more than a week ago. We were talking about Heaven and the Fall and—and us. The family. He was insulting you and being his usual obtuse self, said that you were a demon and could obviously never come back to Heaven and nor would you be welcome to. I proved him wrong.’

‘So you defended my _honour_ or something, is that it?’ Crowley asked, sceptical.

‘Well, not then, but I did fight him when he got angry and asked how dared you Rise. I had the bruises for days afterwards, even with Hamaliel’s healing.’ She sighed. Crowley almost thought he heard a tremble in her voice. ‘And that’s another thing. Gabriel, he—’

‘He _what_.’

‘A few days later, he Fell, Crowley. Gabriel Fell.’

Crowley tore the sunglasses off his nose and blinked at her. She sucked in a breath, seeing his eyes for the first time since the Fall, but he barely registered that. ‘What did you just say?’

‘Gabriel is a demon.’

The kettle wheezed, punctuating the charged silence filling the room. Aziraphale jumped and turned the cooker off[3]. He breathed, ‘Well I’ll be damned.’

Crowley gaped. Would you look at that. Karma absolutely was a real thing.

Not that he wished Falling on anyone. Even Gabriel. He was a prick and needed to learn a few lessons, absolutely, but Falling? Yikes. A shiver ran down his spine.

‘You and Lucifer Rose, and he Fell,’ she continued. ‘Perhaps I’d cast you two out, perhaps you’d have Fallen anyway because we self-actualise; we cannot say. But one thing is clear: nothing is as straightforward as we thought. He condemned himself. He abandoned us too, rebelled, blasphemed, whatever I’d called it when I last spoke to you. And what is more, Hamaliel and some others speculate that he might assume Lucifer’s job and become the King of Hell alongside Beelzebub. The more I think about it, the more it sounds like him.’ She chuckled darkly. ‘The point is, he’s—he’s the same as Lucifer or you, and yet I cannot bring myself to see him as anything else as my brother. I want to do right by him. And I need to do right by you—because how does your situation differ? It doesn’t. The circumstances are almost identical. So. I forgive you. And I’d be glad if you gave me a second chance.’

* * *

1 Luckily for her, he wouldn’t do that to the Bentley.[✿]

2 They weren’t classic French baguettes, as one might imagine. They were tiger baguettes from Asda, because as much as Aziraphale appreciated the simplicity and tradition of French baguettes, they were too, well, _plain_.[✿]

3 It boiled very fast. It always did, mostly because Aziraphale had no idea how long water should take to start boiling and expected it to do so quickly because he expected to have tea quickly. Especially when there were guests, however desirable or undesirable was their presence.[✿]


	79. A Start

Crowley asked, ‘Why should I?’

It was a simple question. After all the shit she’d said, done, and _not_ done over the years and the last month especially, why should he give her a second chance? After she practically invaded his home and had the gall to be coldly sweet about it, no less. She forgave him—fine. He’d forgiven himself too. She wasn’t special.

Aziraphale passed him the wine bottle. Crowley took a sip, all the while looking at her and waiting for a response.

‘You’re right,’ she finally said. ‘You don’t owe me anything. I hurt you. There’s no undoing that. But I suppose—we’re still family, Crowley, and have only now found each other again. What happened with Gabriel really does put things into perspective. I suppose I’d like to move on and start over. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to, because let’s be honest: I’ve been a bit of a—bitch.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Crowley mumbled. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn’t occupied with holding the bottle. ‘Okay, since you bring it up time and time again, answer me this. I begged for your mercy. I didn’t fight back even though I could have blasted you to oblivion. I begged on Lucifer’s behalf too, but what good did it do, eh? Maybe you’re right, maybe it would’ve happened anyway. Doesn’t change how it _actually_ happened. And instead of dealing with it, you chose to ignore it and forget, yeah? And now with Gabriel—there was no war, no fight, no begging, am I right? I’d bet he wasn’t even there, went to that—house or whatever no one’s supposed to know about[1]. Still right? And this made you realise shit. Well done. But it’s _not_ not different. It very much is different, Michael. You see that? You see how I might be sceptical about—whatever _this_ is?’

He made a vague gesture that included both the two of them talking to each other and her standing in their kitchen in the first place.

‘What he means to say, dear, is that while yes, Gabriel, also you brother, might be a demon now, you didn’t personally kick him out of Heaven and proceed to live in deliberate ignorance for millennia. That’s hardly comparable, is it?’

Jaw set and eyes fixed on her increasingly guilty expression, Crowley shot him a single finger gun. Telepathically, Aziraphale asked him to give the wine back, which he did.

‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘Not if you put it that way.’

‘Cool. Cool cool cool. Blind faith in God then, where do we stand on that?’

‘You know what I’ve been doing in Heaven. And now with the discovery of self-actualisation…’

‘I want to hear you say it,’ Crowley replied, emphasising the t for dramatic effect.

‘We have free will. During the War, we all acted of our own free will, and thought that it was the right thing and that God’s authority should never be questioned.’ She sighed. ‘But it’s wrong. It’s an excuse. God’s Plan in ineffable.’

‘How I _hate_ that word,’ he groused half-heartedly, rolling his head. ‘But it feels liberating, doesn’t it? Also puts a perspective on things. Especially Gabriel.’ He let out a long exhale through his nostrils. ‘I honestly pity all demons. If _he’s_ the King of Hell…’

 _“Then so help them God” might be a suitable expression_ , said Aziraphale’s thoughts. Crowley agreed. But he was mostly glad that he was retired and thus would never have to deal with having him as his boss. Anywhere. Beelzebub had been quite enough, thank you very much. He knew all about Gabriel and his management practices from Aziraphale, and if _that_ should meet the sheer _incompetence_ and _computer illiteracy_ of demons, well.

Someone was going to be a lot more miserable. They might have to start producing actual _results_.

If he took the job, that was. It was just rumours and speculations, right, Michael said? But then again, if Gabriel kicked himself out of Mx Perfect Club, he had nowhere else to take his preachy, self-obsessed, ignorant self but to the post of the Most Powerful Prince of Hell[2]. Unless he hid like Crowley. But nah, even if being a demon was the last thing Gabriel wanted, he’d still let his ambitions get the best of him. Or he’d do it for Beelzebub.

Ugh. Why couldn’t Crowley’s plan to put her on the chair _work_? You know, uncomplicatedly[3]?

Not that he cared. He was retired. What happened in either office was none of his business.

Aziraphale, mildly amused and concerned at the same time, busied himself with pouring water over tea and preparing cups. He tried not to think about it too hard. He was possibly even less of a fan of Gabriel than Crowley, deep down—and that was saying something—but there still was a difference between being safely tucked away in Heaven, where one didn’t have to concern themselves with him, and being the fucking King of Hell. Or Fallen at all.

‘I wasn’t surprised,’ Michael confessed, interrupting their intertwined trains of thoughts, ‘but I still didn’t expect it. Neither did I expect the possibility that he might… you know. I was devastated.’

‘Will you visit _him_? Will you apologise to _him_? Bet you will,’ Crowley mused. ‘How ‘bout Lucifer? He’s the King of Hell right now. You cast him out too. But it’s no different, right? So you should, by your own reasoning, get over your prejudices and face your shit. Just sayin’.’

‘You’re _all_ family,’ Aziraphale pointed out.

‘And it was clearly never about the chair. It was always about Luci. You ready to forgive _him_? Talk? I blamed him too, you know, and boy, was I _angry_ with him. Maybe even feared him a little. But look at us now; we call each other on the phone.’

When one or the other needed something or just generally fucked up. Still. It counted.

‘I’m telling you, don’t come to me unless you’re ready to bury the bigger hatchet too.’ He crossed his arms again and cocked his head in Aziraphale’s direction. ‘Like he said, we’re all family. And believe me, I’m shocked to hear myself say all those words too. Since when am _I_ the voice of reason? That’s like, Rae’s job. I’m an _idiot_. No one should listen to me. But seriously, you should listen to me right now.’

Aziraphale picked up the teapot. ‘Tea?’

‘Please,’ Michael said, looking more uneasy by the minute. Dumping all that on her would do that. It was clear that the issues she had with Lucifer were buried even deeper and desperately wished not to be addressed[4]. But that wasn’t how it worked.

Aziraphale poured three cups of tea and gave her one. Looking at the greenish liquid rather than him, she added, ‘You are. But I’d always thought you were brilliant. You _are_ good enough. You are _good_ enough. I’m sorry for the outburst last time. You’re—you’re right.’

‘Ngh. You were on point about the fears. ‘S your power, like Luci’s is desire. It hurt, but you weren’t wrong. And I do hate these—these _worshippers_. Ugh. Had to _smite_ them. Lily found out.’

Aziraphale wordlessly passed him a cup and purposefully let his fingers linger for a second longer. Crowley slurped his tea. Yes, he absolutely avoided addressing the other thing she said.

‘I heard, yes,’ she said. She took a careful sip of tea and contemplated its taste, then took another. ‘Did they perhaps say anything about—er. Never mind. Nothing.’

He raised his eyebrows and almost, _almost_ waggled them. ‘You still like them!’ He snorted. ‘That’s another thing you cocked up. That I _won’t_ be helping you with. Deal with it like the mature bloody angel you are. We clear?’

She nodded. She took another sip. Probably liked green tea, then. Or needed a second to process what had just been said, which was as good as a confirmation that Crowley guessed exactly what she was on about. Which, Crowley very much didn’t want to be involved in it. That was _their_ unresolved drama. Observing it the first time around had been enough. And anyway, he was the last person one should ask for relationship advice, honestly. Look at him and Aziraphale.

She sighed and changed the subject. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready to speak to Lucifer. I imagine it wouldn’t end very well.’

‘Oh, he’d certainly fight you,’ said Aziraphale. Crowley was thinking it.

He liked this confident version of him, this Aziraphale who was no longer scared shitless of what the Archangels thought of him. He liked to think it was thanks to him. If there was one good thing about Crowley being their sibling, it was passing that lack of care and respect onto his husband upon bonding.

‘And I’d fight him back. With demon blades around, that would probably not be a good idea[5],’ Michael remarked. ‘When I think of him, there’s this—this _rage_ lurking under the surface, and it’s like I can’t help but blame him and be angry with him. He started it all, Crowley. He was the Adversary. The King of Hell. If Gabriel assumes that position, it’s passed onto him; I know. I know that Lucifer is an angel, and that he loves Earth, and that he’s changed. But knowing and being ready to accept it are two different things.’

‘Spend two weeks in a cramped, dark office where your only forms of entertainment are paperwork and talking to each other. Highly recommend it. Though you might hear a little too much about his sex life, so be warned.’

She scrunched up her nose in disgust.

Crowley downed all of his tea at once and slammed the cup on the table as if it were a shot glass. ‘Listen. I believe you. You want to do better. You want to try. Great—this is a start. But it’ll take much more than saying a few words to change and be able to start over. Because none of us will ever be able to start over, _ever_. That just isn’t possible. Too many scars. But as Linda would probably say, we can start to heal, piece by piece, each of us individually. I’d meant it; gotta start with yourself. It’s all a lot for me too—hell, I’m a _mess_. Seeing you or anyone else won’t help me. And look. I’m not saying that we can’t ever talk again. In a billion years, we won’t even know this ever happened, and Mum knows where we are then. But right now, I need _time_ , Michael. I can’t—I can’t deal with this now, atop everything else that’s going on. Give me a few decades and come talk then, when you’ve dealt with your own feelings, here.’ He tapped at his heart. ‘So please, leave now and really don’t come back unless I call you, for all our sakes. But, er. Thanks. For saying all that.’

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Thank you for listening. And for the tea. It’s—adequate. Unlike Heaven, which is still shaken from the news of Gabriel’s Fall.’

Aziraphale furrowed his brow and drank his tea a little more aggressively. It was more than simply _adequate_ , thank you very much. It was one of the best and most expensive green teas one could buy in the town of Worthing.

He didn’t say that out loud.

Crowley asked Michael, ‘You didn’t er, tell them, right? About me?’

‘No. Though I’m afraid that they might find out if he really does become the King of Hell.’

Crowley grimaced. He’d probably make a speech and make a special point of mentioning the memories and the role of Lucifer’s and his Rising had in his Falling, or something, knowing him. Oh well. But he could hope that that will be the least interesting part of it all, something that will get the bottom of page four because Gabriel will take up the entirety of the first three pages of the Times.

‘Hnn. Well. Can live with that,’ he said. Michael still wasn’t leaving. He cleared his throat. ‘Bye, Michael.’

‘Right.’ She placed the teacup on the worktop and gave them an all-encompassing nod. ‘God be with you.’

Then she disappeared in a cloud of static-and-fabric-softener smell.

Aziraphale said, ‘Even _I_ know that we don’t say that anymore.’

The corner of Crowley’s mouth ticked upwards. He eyed the unpacked shopping bags. Baguettes, butter, cheese, figs, wine—

‘Picnic on the beach?’

‘Oh, yes, please, darling.’

* * *

1 He knew because Lucifer knew. Where _he_ got the information, he didn’t ask. Maybe it was Azrael, maybe Beelzebub herself. He couldn’t care less. He cared about how hilarious, hypocritical, and somewhat traumatising it was—because Gabriel and Beelzebub, sharing a _house_ on _Earth_? Wow. But also eugh. He didn’t exactly need that image in his head.[✿]

2 Well, technically. Lucifer would still be the Prince of Pride, even if Gabriel had pride enough to fill in for him. That wasn’t a title that could simply be passed onto someone else. The fact that the King was also the most powerful Prince would, therefore, no longer be true. Gabriel was an Archdemon, yes, but _not_ a Prince. But tradition was tradition, so he would probably be called that anyway.[✿]

3 Because if Gabriel were there, so would she. You know, bonded couple stuff. Heh.[✿]

4 Crowley’d got mixed up in the rebels’ business because both his heart and his mind were too damn big. He’d had all those questions and ideas and wanted to help angels on both sides at the same time because back then, they’d all been like family. But Lucifer—he’d started it. He’d fuelled the War. He’d had more than a few opinions and a voice of gold, which had drawn so many angels in. And worst of all… Michael had been there. She’d poked the bear. Her words had been what had spurred him into action in the end. She was a warrior; it was what she did. Even if they’d just been talking. A part of her had always blamed herself for the War, and she wasn’t sure—she wasn’t sure if she was ready to address that. She couldn’t even think about it. She couldn’t face Lucifer and all that he’d done and all that _she’d_ done.[✿]

5 Maybe they couldn’t kill each other with them, but leave a few nasty scars? Oh, absolutely.[✿]


	80. What Are You?

Maze had just gotten her monthly paycheque. She had also just picked Trixie up from Dan because there was a new case that required both his and Chloe’s presence but sidelined her for the moment, and combined, those two things could only mean one thing.

Or, well, two. Shopping and ice cream.

But before they could do that, she had had to cash her cheque. And there currently lay the rub.

Of all the hours, all the days, and all the banks, the robber just _had to_ pick this one.

She was a demon. She wasn’t afraid. She could beat criminals to a pulp and toss them onto a groaning pile of stupid people who were doing the colour black a huge disfavour and already had their Hell Loops built somewhere, guns or no guns. But there were about ten other humans inside this bank and, most importantly, Trixie.

Whose face one of those guns was currently pointing at.

Which _might_ just be Maze’s fault because she, being a demon, could sense the desperately malicious intentions of the guy currently standing by the teller window in front of her and had reacted appropriately. That is, she’d bluntly called him out and told him that there was no way he was getting away with it[1]—at which point he turned around and pulled the gun he was previously hiding under his clothes.

Petrified, Trixie clung to her side. Others panicked. In hindsight, Maze saw that it hadn’t been the brightest of ideas.

Oh well.

‘You sure, lady?’ the guy said, waving the gun around. ‘I gave a gun and a friend hacking into the cameras outside. If you and your kid wanna stay alive, I’d suggest you don’t do anything stupid like call the cops.’

Maze mentally snorted at his stupidity. The teller had probably already triggered the silent alarm and memorised his description to tell the police later. Physically, she put an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and tried to push her behind her and out of the line of fire.

‘My mommy will come for you anyway,’ Trixie said quietly but bravely, startling about everyone in the bank. Maze glanced at her. She was afraid, oh yes she was, but that didn’t stop her from fighting. She was her parents’ daughter and her little hellspawn, alright.

But fuck, she was being so reckless right now.

‘What did you say?’ the robber barked. ‘Your mom a cop? You a cop?’ He pointed the gun at Maze, again mistaking her for her mother[2]. Idiot human.

‘My mom is the best and bravest detective at the LAPD,’ said Trixie. ‘She won’t let you get away with it. And anyway, Aunt Maze here will kick your butt first. You picked the wrong bank.’

‘Right,’ he scoffed. He cocked the gun. ‘Whatcha gonna do, huh? If you feel suicidal then by all means feel free, but I’m walking outta here. Already have the money.’ With the other hand, he tapped at the stuffed messenger bag hanging over his shoulder.

‘ _Get behind me_ ,’ Maze whispered in Lilim[3]. That way, she could shield her with her body and have a better chance at taking this idiot down without her getting hurt. A plan was already hatching in her mind.

Very slowly, Trixie did. She held her breath. Maze slid a hand into her pocket and felt for her blade.

‘Don’t move!’ he said. ‘Any of you! If you stay where you are and let me walk out, no one has to die here. But my friends are watching, and if something happens…’ He clicked his tongue and cocked his head.

Maze could feel the internal turmoil under all that pretend confidence though. His heart was beating fast. He was running on adrenaline. As soon as he’d pulled the gun, his chances at getting away had decreased and he knew it.

Her fingers gripped the blade. The robber was retreating, gun loaded and pointing in her general direction. But she could be pretty damn fast when she needed to.

She hurled it at him and aimed to disarm him, in either sense of the word. Metal clanged against metal. He yelped and dropped it.

But not before he managed to fire a round. His finger had been on the trigger, and the knife hitting his hand sparked an automatic reaction. The shot rang loud, echoing and deafening. Maze was its target.

She hadn’t anticipated that. Humans _could_ sometimes still surprise her in non-sexual ways, as it turned out.

And so could her body.

Where she expected it to hurt like Hell on an unproductive day, it just—didn’t.

The bullet bounced off and fell on the floor. The robber’s eyes widened when Maze didn’t immediately scream in pain or drop down, or even bleed. He’d meant to run, but all he could do was stare at her in shock. He stammered out, ‘W—what the fuck? What _are_ you?!’

‘She’s a demon, duh,’ said Trixie, still hidden behind her.

Maze was still too baffled to fully register what was happening right now—probably something about self-actualisation and all those hidden powers, but she didn’t have time to unpack this right now—but some ancient instinct inside her must have woken up, because the next thing she knew, his bag was on the floor and his hands firmly bound with a zip tie.

‘You’ll forget this ever happened,’ she said into the dead quiet of the bank as if it were a fact. Which it was. She pointed at the criminal. ‘And _you_ idiot are coming with me. I’d suggest you don’t do anything stupid like _run_ , because I _will_ catch you.’

The people blinked, confused, and resumed their indifferent standing in line. She turned on her heel, put her hands on Trixie’s shoulders comfortingly—at least she hoped so—and smiled at the teller, to whom she gave the cheque and her ID. ‘I’d like to cash this cheque.’

When they were both safely out of the bank, a wad of cash richer and three rather confused, zip-tied criminals stuffed in the back of their van[4], she let out a sigh of relief. Unconsciously, she reached for her blades and felt their comforting, grounding coldness. She also felt Trixie’s lasting terror.

She crouched in front of her. ‘Hey, kid, are you okay?’

Trixie gripped her tight and buried her head in the crook of her neck. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled. ‘You protected me, just like I said you would. You’re the best, Maze.’ She pulled away and looked her in the eye. There were little sparks of excitement. ‘That was really cool. I didn’t know you were bulletproof like Supergirl[5]!’

She snorted. ‘Neither did I.’

‘Wait, so… not all demons do that?’

It was her turn to be slightly confused again. She cleared her throat. ‘You—you really think I’m—’

‘It’s obvious, silly. Why would you say all those things if you weren’t a demon? Why would Lucifer say he was the Devil if it wasn’t true? He doesn’t lie. Everyone knows that,’ she said as if it were the plainest thing. She sighed. A corner of her mouth ticked downwards. ‘I miss him. They say he’s supposed to be evil, but he’s really, really not. And Mommy loves him, and she wouldn’t love a bad guy. Like _them_.’

She turned around and frowned at the van.

‘What are you going to do with them?’

‘One of them threatened to kill you,’ Maze said. ‘No one does that and gets away with it.’

Trixie was precious to her. When someone was precious to a demon, whoever tried to hurt them would feel all of their infernal wrath. Maze would make it _last_. And once Lucifer found out, they’d feel it again, be it before or after their death. She had mixed feelings about him, but she didn’t doubt that he’d do anything for Trixie and Chloe and punish whoever tried to kill them accordingly, accident or not. Threats were enough.

She’d count herself too, but after what he’d done—she wasn’t sure she ever mattered to him at all. How could he claim that he cared about her when he’d kept the truth about who she had been and could be from her?

Trixie chewed on her lip. ‘Please don’t tell Mommy? She’d worry too much because I was already kidnapped that one time, and I don’t want her to worry. She’s already worried about Lucifer and work, and if she knew…’

She thought about it. Chloe should probably know, right? But Trixie had a point about worrying, and when Maze imagined the righteously angry scowl and the speech she’d undoubtedly get for getting Trixie in danger in the first place, she reached a decision.

‘Okay,’ she nodded. ‘But you should probably talk to Linda about it. It could result in trauma if you bottle the memories up or something[6]. You’re really brave, and you’re my hellspawn, but you’re still human and like, tiny.’

She squirmed. ‘Can we maybe get that ice cream first?’

There was no time. She had to deal with _them_. She couldn’t leave Trixie on her own right now either though. That was what _Lilith_ would’ve done. But home was far away.

Unless…

‘Linda has lots of ice cream, and you can eat _all_ of it,’ she said, getting up. ‘But I’m going to have to go. I have… other things to take care of. I’ll come soon though, okay? Sounds like a plan?’

‘You’re going to punish them?’ she asked. Maze nodded. Trixie frowned at the van, and then turned back to her and smiled. She held out her hand. It was time for the Handshake™.

‘How are we gonna get to—’

Before Trixie could finish that sentence, they stood in front of the door. ‘—Linda’s? Wait. We’re here. You can _teleport_? Oh my god, that’s _awesome_!’

She hugged her again, this time out of excitement. Maze’s insides were also excited. Or, well, weird. And moving way too fast. She didn’t even know how the fuck she did that, but she just did that. She just _did_ that. Without even thinking.

She’d needed to get her to safety without risking giving the thugs enough time to figure out how to drive off or otherwise escape. She’d find them, but if she had to do that, she’d get even more pissed, and she honestly couldn’t tell what she might do then. So she’d had to do it fast. It had always failed before, but now—

Now she had a motive and _needed_ it to work.

‘There’s a story,’ she said. ‘You can ask Linda. I have to—I have to go now.’

She had sinners to punish and powers to explore. Perhaps simultaneously.

* * *

1 Years of working with Chloe and a Lucifer who suddenly didn’t care if the sinners he punished were dead or alive had rubbed off on her. Ugh. The old Maze would’ve let the scumbag take his money and done with knowing that he was a sure score for Downstairs. Bounty hunter and part-time consultant Maze, however, saw an opportunity.[✿]

2 This wasn’t the first time, which was ridiculous, because they were nothing alike. Maze was too cool and looked too young to be her mother, for one.[✿]

3 She’s been teaching her on Trixie’s days off, and practically every day during the summer. Lilim was difficult to understand for humans—or so she’d heard—but grammar and vocabulary-wise, it was fairly uncomplicated—because demons—so once she got used to all the consonants and odd sounds and learned to tell apart different parts of speech, it wasn’t that difficult. Trixie was already bilingual and spoke fairly good Spanish, so adding some basic phrases in one more language wasn’t that hard for her. Especially since Lilim and its relative simplicity was the opposite of Spanish with all its conjugations and genders. For situations such as this, it was useful. It was like their secret code.[✿]

4 She didn’t even need to use the blade again to make him give up the location of his friends and their getaway car. She didn’t know if it was thanks to the slightly arousing terror she naturally inspired in everyone or the power of demonic suggestion, but she liked it.[✿]

5 Trixie, of course, knew that there was also a Superman and that he was usually the first one that came to mind when someone mentioned being bulletproof. But she liked Supergirl better. She was a girl and was just as brave, strong, and badass. Besides, she had her own TV show, and Superman _didn’t_ (not at the moment, anyway). Trixie really liked it. She also liked Nia because she was a cool alien with cool powers, Alex because she reminded her of her mom, and J’onn because he was a Martian. She still hoped that she might become the President of Mars one day and unite Green and White Martians for good.[✿]

6 That sounded like something Linda might say. She’d been observing her and listening to her a lot ever since she moved in with her and Amenadiel. She’d even given her a few books to read, but Maze didn’t read _books_. She was a _demon_. Listening had to do, thank you very much.[✿]


	81. Hello, Brother

Gabriel stood in front of the mirror for the first time since he’d got kicked out of Heaven. Rather reluctantly, he might add, but it wouldn’t do to look improper on one’s first day at a new job. Especially for an Archangel who was to become the sovereign of Hell.

Archdemon. Whatever. It was just a stupid title, and if Lucifer could keep calling himself an angel after his Fall, then so could he.

‘Can’t you wear something more… climate-appropriate?’ asked Beelzebub with feigned indifference. He knew that she was enjoying the show.

He turned his head to look at her and tugged at his dove-grey jacket. ‘This is my best suit, Beelzebub. Made in Savile Row. What else should a king wear?’

‘A darker version of it,’ she remarked dryly. She was wearing a white shirt under her dark jacket though, so she was hardly one to talk, was she? That wasn’t typical demon fashion either[1], as far as the words “demon” and “fashion” could ever be used together in a sentence.

He put on a false smile, the falseness of which had further intensified after his unfortunate sauntering downwards, and said, ‘Sweetheart, black simply does not go with this body. Grey and purple are my colours, and I do not and nor will I ever subscribe to demonic regulation outfits. You know that. So how about you mind your own business and leave me to prepare for the unfortunately unavoidable encounter with my _brother_.’

He pronounced that word as if it were a curse. Or perhaps a blessing. Demon and all.

She frowned at him, unimpressed. Yes, yes, she couldn’t really mind her own business because this _was_ her business, he knew that. But she could at least _go to another room and stop distracting me._

She scoffed and got up from the bed. _Fine, be this way. I have paperwork to do_ , she replied telepathically. She disappeared in the bowels of the house and left him to his suit and the uncomfortably candid mirror.

He still wasn’t used to this. He looked so—dark. A reflection of one’s soul, Beelzebub said. You couldn’t cover it up with makeup and nice suits. It was who you were. It was who _he_ was now. And apparently, he’d also gone insane in addition to dark-haired and subconsciously rebellious: he really was going to fly down to Hell and sit on that wretched chair.

A month ago, he’d laughed in his siblings’ faces and called the very idea absurd. But it had been a week, and if he stayed in this house for any longer, mostly alone with his thoughts and having nothing meaningful to do, he might just _murder_ someone. Beelzebub was right. It was horrible here.

He just couldn’t do this anymore.

But he couldn’t lose hope. He couldn’t go astray. This was in no way final; he’d get back up if only he tried and believed hard enough, no matter what she said. And for that, needed something to do. He was a messenger without a job, an Archangel without a Function. Having things to busy himself with would fill that empty feeling in his chest.

Right?

He smoothed his violet tie, miracled a shade darker to match his eyes, and took a deep and wholly unnecessary breath. Something was about to be filled alright. He’d felt it when Beelzebub sat on the Throne, all that _information_ in his head. Ugh. That would certainly be one downside of the whole gig.

Not that there really were any _upsides_ to Hell, were there? He chuckled, thinking himself hilarious.

‘That’s not true,’ said a kind voice next to him. Absolutely not jumping, he whipped around and stared Death in the eye. Were they a goddamn _mind reader_ now[2]? ‘It’s a fickle dimension. Flexible. It doesn’t have to be horrible if you don’t believe it should be, for the souls and the demons both. Anyone can leave. Anyone can fix things if they don’t let all that misery drag them down.’ They tapped the side of their nose. ‘But shh, that’s a secret.’

He blinked and finally fully acknowledged their presence. ‘Azrael? What are you—’

‘Hello, brother,’ they said. ‘Need I remind you that I know about everything that happens? That includes this.’ They gestured at his body wavily. Their face then saddened. ‘I’m—I’m sorry, Gabe.’

He scoffed. ‘Sorry isn’t going to give me a ticket back.’

They sat on the bed, oddly close to the same spot where Beelzebub had been sitting before. ‘No. But when Lu Fell, I left him. I never let him know how much I loved him and missed him and that nothing would ever change that. Crowley I met, and him too eventually, but I’m not going to make the same mistake again. You’re not lesser just because you’ve Fallen. You’re still family.’

He rubbed at his face and averted his eyes from the mirror. He walked to the window and looked outside, turning his back to them. ‘Am I? ‘Cause I don’t see anyone else here, sunshine. A demon’s a demon. They can say what they want about forgiveness, but in the end, they do the same to me that we did to _them_ once. I’d have done the same in their place.’

He’d done it to Lucifer and Crowley when they Fell. Both his siblings. He didn’t like them and wasn’t interested in any of that reconnection shit Michael had been on about lately, especially because of the _memories_ , but he couldn’t deny that his situation and theirs were the same. As Beelzebub said, Heaven had abandoned the Fallen. Now it abandoned him. The maths was simple.

He turned back around and leant against the windowsill. ‘The biggest fucking irony is that I _get it_ now.’

‘Aw, there’s hope for you yet. You learned something,’ they smiled. It was annoyingly angelic of them[3]. ‘But you’re wrong. They just need time. Michael is processing this on top of all the other stuff she’s got going on—she went to talk to Crowley and didn’t fight him this time, can you believe?—but she’ll come. Amen too. They finally got it too.’

He stared at them. There was silence, and a lot of information to process.

‘Anyway,’ Azrael added at last. ‘I came to wish you good luck. You’ll need it Down There.’

‘Er, thanks, I guess?’

‘Really, Gabe. I know we have our differences, but siblings are siblings. Don’t forget us. I think that being a demon suits you, but don’t forget that you’ve always got a choice. Free will, that’s what it’s about. Kings can be cruel and bitter and hold an eternal grudge against their enemies, but they can be just and kind and remember where they came from just as well. Even demons are capable of kindness. I sincerely hope you remember that.’

His brow furrowed, focusing on a single thought. ‘You think that being a demon _suits me_?’

‘Honestly? With your personality, yeah, I think it does. I’m sure Beelzebub said the same,’ they answered. He didn’t stop frowning. ‘Come on, are you really surprised? You know you did this to yourself. Just saying.’

He clenched his fists and stalked towards the bed. ‘Azrael—’

They stood up and backed away. ‘I know, I know. You don’t want to hear it. I know you. But you’ll think about it anyway, and that’s enough.’ They smiled briefly, not concerned at all. ‘Go be a king. Do what you couldn’t in Heaven.’

‘Are you implying that I wanted it?’ he shouted, halting at the foot of the bed. ‘That I what, self-actualised into becoming the King of Hell because that way I can be someone I couldn’t in Heaven?’

‘I don’t know, am I? Self-actualisation is subjective and internal, after all. I’m just—giving you some food for thought. The famed Wisdom of Death.’ Now they were smirking. ‘There’s also your bondmate.’

Well. Maybe they were partially right about _that._

Gabriel cleared his throat and willed his hands to relax. They meant well. They weren’t dangerous. They were his sibling, and none of this was their fault. ‘Is that all? I have places to be.’

They rolled their eyes, knowing that he wasn’t really in a hurry. But they kind of were, being the Angel of Death, so they stepped closer to him and asked, ‘Permission to hug?’

He sighed. It probably couldn’t be helped either way. Sure enough, they took that as permission and quickly wrapped him in their warm arms.

He soaked that warmth up. It reminded him of all the things he’d lost and still yearned for.

‘Okay, big brother. Please don’t screw up,’ they said when they pulled away, looking him in the eye. ‘See you again sometime.’

‘Yeah. Sure, Rae.’

They gave him a brief smile, for the nickname, and then they were gone as fast as they came. He blew out his cheeks and slumped down in the bed. He contemplated what they said. About Michael and everything else. Something inside him clenched at the mere thought of his sister’s name. But did she—did she really care? What would she think if she saw him like this?

 _Rae of Sunshine. I can smell Death in the air_ , remarked Beelzebub’s thoughts. _They starting to remind you that you’re still one of them? Hypocrites, all of them. They’d been very vocal about the opposite the last time if I remember it correctly._

 _They didn’t forget this time_ , he shot back. _And look. Sometimes you’re wrong, Bee. Who says I have to embrace it? Lucifer didn’t. It’s clearly a phase. It’s a job. That’s all._

_Again with the delusion—_

_Just shut up. I hadn’t helped you—fine, you don’t have to help me either. We’re even._

They stormed into the bedroom, arms crossed. ‘This time we’re both here in case you didn’t notice.’

‘Well, I’m doing things my way. You wanted it, didn’t you? So now my inappropriately coloured suit and I are going to take over the office, and you can either come with me as my partner or keep on criticising me.’

‘Just giving you my opinion, that’s all. ‘Course I’m going, idiot. I’m the bloody Prime Minister.’

‘Well then.’ He got up and fixed his cuffs. ‘Let’s go and get this over with.’ He blinked. He was still standing in the bedroom, and realised that he’d never been to Hell and wasn’t entirely sure how one went about getting there. ‘How do you—’

Beelzebub huffed and grabbed his arm. A slightly nauseating second later, they appeared in a large, dark, and mostly empty chamber somewhere underground. It smelt of mould, Hellfire, and unclean things. _Ugh_.

‘Welcome to Hell, brother dear,’ said the only figure sitting at the large table in the middle of the room. His voice was unmistakeably smooth and smug. So was his aura. Gabriel frowned again, as he did a lot lately.

‘Lucifer,’ he said contemptuously.

‘Yes, that’s me. I must say I’m very flattered. Not only did the Archangel Fucking Gabriel[4] lower himself to let the wife drag him here, but he also lowered himself to become the king of this place,’ Lucifer declared. ‘Oh, my lord and saviour. I’m sure you’ll do excellently here.’

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for _you_ ,’ Gabriel said, clasping his hands and putting on another purely fake smile. ‘In fact, why don’t you scurry to your human and leave me to it, since you’re clearly incapable of putting your subjects in line and doing your job even after all the trouble we’ve all gone through for you.’

‘Look at him; he’s actually capable of having good ideas!’ He got up and gathered a pile of paperwork lying on the table[5]. He walked to him and shoved the pile into Gabriel’s hands. ‘Here’s all you need to know about what I actually do and what needs to be seen through. Here—’ He rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a bunch of old keys. ‘—are the keys to the office, the Castle, and the city gates. Beelzebub here will tell you the rest, I’m sure. Hell is yours. Enjoy.’

He patted his arm, shot him a dazzling smile, and walked off. His last words were, ‘Lucifer out!’

‘That was—’

‘Way too easy,’ Beelzebub finished.

‘Well, he won’t be missed, that’s for sure.’ Gabriel glanced down at the dirty files in his hands. He put them down and brushed his hands off, grimacing. ‘So now what?’

‘You sit on the Throne.’

Right. That. ‘Lead the way then.’

* * *

1 Lucifer wore light shirts. Gabriel, who was a part of her, wore light everything. Between them, it was unavoidable. Shut up; she had an aesthetic.[✿]

2 No. Obviously. They weren’t even bonded to anyone. But after millions of years of being his sibling and nigh omniscient, they had a good grasp on people’s feelings. Plus, knowing the situation… He was projecting all over. Feelings. Emotions. Thoughts, even.[✿]

3 Deep down, he was immensely glad to hear that they thought so.[✿]

4 Crowley had told him that he’d actually _said that_. It was hilarious. There was no one in Heaven who thought more highly of themselves than Gabriel—quite literally, as of last week. But if you asked Lucifer, he’d change it a bit. Archangel Fucker Gabriel was a bit more accurate.[✿]

5 He wanted to punch him in the face. He _really_ wanted to insult him and argue with him. But he also wanted to get out of there and see Chloe, and just thinking of her was enough to make him swallow all the things he wanted to say for long enough to pass the torch to him and get the hell out of Hell.[✿]


	82. The Throne

Being bonded to Beelzebub, Gabriel probably knew more about Hell than most angels. If he didn’t count Lucifer and Crowley, that is. But that still couldn’t prepare him for the reality of what it was actually like to fly through its damp, musty atmosphere and look down at the rugged landscape below. And Lord, the _wails_. He didn’t know if those came from demons or tortured souls, and he honestly didn’t want to find out.

 _It’s both_ , Beelzebub told him, ignoring the latter thought. She was flying in front of him. _Demon up! It’s music to our ears._

Yeah, no. _The Sound of Music_ was music. Look, it even had the word in the title.

Also, the floating ash. That was disgusting[1]. His suit might just turn dark against his will if he stayed outside for too long. That needed to be fixed. A _lot_ of things needed to be fixed before Hell could become an acceptable work environment for him.

He couldn’t even blame Lucifer for hating the place and not wanting to live there. He wouldn’t either if it could be helped. He did, however, blame him for keeping it that way. Wasn’t the King capable of shaping and influencing it with nothing but his mind? Lucifer was apparently more incompetent than everyone thought.

It was high time that this place got a proper leader.

 _We like it this way_ , Beelzebub reminded him.

 _That’s an excuse,_ he scoffed. _It’s Hell. No one likes it. It’s been created as punishment. But you did get used to it—and I say a change of scenery is due._

Beelzebub recalled that brief, terrifying moment when Crowley had sat on the Throne and temporarily magicked the weather nice and everything else modern and fixed. It was a strong thought. Even stronger was the dread that followed the realisation that he fully approved of Crowley’s design.

Yikes.

‘We’re here,’ she said out loud. He could see that. The chair wasn’t invisible.

A memory of her sitting there flashed through _his_ mind. He knew what was going to happen now. The pit in his chest deepened, and if he had ingested some sort of gross matter or drink, his stomach would have heaved, he imagined. It was no pleasant experience.

Below, demons halted and looked up. He could hear their whispers all the way up[2].

Beelzebub said, ‘What are you waiting for? Do it.’

What _was_ he waiting for? He’d come here. He’d chosen this. He needed a job, and this was his best option. Top management. Even _Azrael_ thought he was going to excel at it.

Right. He took a deep breath, instantly regretted it because of the ash, and flew above the Throne. Slowly beating his wings, he lowered himself onto it.

An invisible force grabbed hold of him. It engulfed him from the inside and took root in his brain. Pins and needles prickled all over his essence. Shivers travelled through his nervous system and continued well into the metaphysical pools of his soul, and his _mind_ , his mind was swamped with so much data and perceptions that he couldn’t even begin to process it. Who, what, where, why, when. Everything.

He was going to have a migraine for _days_. Such was the price of omniscience.

He folded all four of his wings on his back but kept them in the material plane. He gripped the rough edges of the stone armrests until he almost drew blood and found his own consciousness among the millions tapped into his mind. He tried his best to filter those out. He had to compartmentalise.

He cleared his throat. _You don’t have to speak out loud_ , thought Beelzebub[3]. Maybe not, but he liked it. He had an excellent voice.

‘Demons,’ he addressed them. ‘I believe you all know who I am: the Archangel Gabriel. I believe you also know about my unfortunate condition. Yes, I am Fallen—and since I can no longer do my job in Heaven, I have accepted the offer to do it here, as the new King of Hell.

‘Now, I understand that you wanted Lucifer out and wouldn’t accept Crowley—which, good, _he_ is no King material, especially now that he’s an _angel_ [4] and all cosy with _Aziraphale_. You might think of _me_ as the one who came to save you. And save I will, oh yes, especially from underperformance, old-fashioned attitude, and uncleanliness. Lucifer let this place fester for too long, but not me. I will not stand for these conditions. It’s not even torture anymore, is it? You got used to it. No, if you are to continue being miserable because you rejected the glory of Heaven, the system must be updated.

‘First of all, the permanent darkness has to go. You can barely see like this, and what with the non-functioning lights? That’s just counterproductive.’

He snapped his fingers and cleared the sky right up. Red gave way to pale blue and grey. The ash decided to disintegrate and thought it would be advisable not to leave the immediate vicinity of volcanoes in the future. The air adjusted its composition and humidity.

‘Now that’s better, isn’t it? But ugh, now you can see all the grime and crumbling walls[5]. Well, guess that’s next. Can’t have buildings falling on your heads and pipes bursting all the time. Too many an—demons at the BID[6] means too many demons slacking off work.’

He snapped his fingers again. It was an unnecessary gesture, but it certainly looked effective. What had been an illusion under Crowley came to life under him[7]. The view of the city instantly improved.

‘Speaking of work, I will have all records and statistics on my desk by the end of the week, and I will also be conducting performance reviews. That’s non-negotiable. Beelzebub tells me productivity has been low since the Armageddoff due to lack of motivation and abundance of existential crises and rebellions. I didn’t suffer my employees slacking off in Heaven, and nor will I allow it here. You’re supposed to match them, after all—but everyone knows you never did. Benefits will then be cut and increased accordingly.

‘I also understand that an election is in progress. I will see it through, and I expect those who will be elected to work hard and work closely with me to bring Hell up to date and maximise its efficiency. What needs to be done will be done. What will no longer be practised will be compensated, and demons will be reassigned to new posts. The ongoing process of digitalisation will be completed, and laws will be updated. Any cases of rebellious behaviour will be punished by Holy Water or other appropriate means in case of those bonded to angels and thus, like Crowley, unkillable by Holy Water alone[8].

‘Now! Where was I? Right. These horrible working conditions. Now that we have a bright sky, vegetation can grow and produce oxygen. Air quality might be sustainable, and besides, you’ll hate taking care of it. Isn’t that brilliant? Modern punishments require modern solutions, after all. That’s for Eden and all those forest fires that you caused and Upstairs had to deal with[9].’

Beelzebub’s wing nudged his shoulder, drawing his attention. Alarm and confusion coloured her face, and her flies circled her head in fast, chaotic spirals. ‘What—what are you doing?’

‘Why, being the proper King you never had. You wanted this. You practically begged me.’

‘But this izzn’t what we agreed on.’

They didn’t agree on anything, as far as he was concerned. She’d only told him things he needed to know, like about the election and the computers.

‘Well, I’m doing things my way. I’m not Lucifer, all mouth and no actions. And do stop interrupting me; you’ll only embarrass yourself.’

She bit back a nasty remark, which he heard in his mind anyway, and crossed her arms.

He took another deep breath, this time clear of terrible smell and floating particles. ‘So you probably heard that. I meant what I said: I’m no Lucifer. Things will be different from now on. The parliament was, after all, my idea.’

Most of them hadn’t known that. Some were also wondering what the deal with him and Beelzebub was. It was handy, knowing this, but also really annoying. Like low-level bond telepathy without the conscious decision to get bonded. _Invasive_.

He said, ‘Yeah. I suggested it to her. She and I are bonded—and there’s your answer to the second question. It’s been some forty, fifty million years?’

‘46.5, I think[10],’ answered Beelzebub. Testily.

‘Possibly. It was inconvenient, for an angel and a demon, but now we’re both here, so.’ He winked at her. Then he used all the limited imagination he had and thought there should be more space on the Throne. She was the one who really wanted it and who really understood it. They were bonded so it didn’t matter, but if they were both there, they could share the load and be less overwhelmed, right? It should work. It was logical. Probably.

She hadn’t been aware of his plans. Hence the embarrassing herself.

The Throne, used to being mostly ignored by the King despite its infinite capabilities but also used to obeying him when asked, accommodated for the possibility of a second person or a really large one, and thus did something no one in the history of Hell had ever thought possible. It reshaped itself.

‘What izz the meaning of this?’ Beelzebub asked, still testy and confused but also curious.

He patted the cold seat and grinned at her rather devilishly. ‘Sit. You won’t discorporate this time, not with me here.’

She raised a sceptical eyebrow but flew closer anyway. ‘Are you sure?’

‘What I say goes, right? I give the orders? Well, I’m ordering it to let us share the power. You feel it anyway because of the bond.’

After a second or ten of hesitating, she gave sitting on it another try.

The pain and influx of information intensified and crowded her head, much like the last time. But this time, she didn’t feel like exploding. Gabriel sucked all that energy out of her and balanced it out. He grabbed her hand and anchored her to the present moment and her own body.

Some clouds returned to the sky, but the ominous red colour didn’t.

Demons knelt, both those on the square and those they couldn’t physically see. Or, well, most of them.

‘Kneel before the Kings,’ Gabriel ordered. ‘Kneel or die. I have no tolerance for disobedience and nor do I have any qualms about getting rid of a few demons. Lucifer had gone soft on you; not me.’

More demons knelt. Some still didn’t. Well, their bad.

Regardless of current weather conditions, several bolts of lightning struck down and smote a good twelve thousand demons out of existence[11].

‘Great, that’s dealt with. Unlike Lucifer and Crowley, I do not entertain empty threats. But fear not; as long as you do what you’re supposed to and don’t step out of line, you’ll be fine. And that’ll be all from me for now. I’ll stay here and familiarise myself with the environment, and you go back to work. Don’t be alarmed if more things change around you. It’s a part of the process!’

Bewildered, the demons got up and immediately engaged in discussions with each other. They grumbled and whined, but in the end, they didn’t want to risk being blown away and proceeded to grumble on their way to work or wherever else they’d been going. That was better.

Angels would never give him this kind of attitude. They’d gossip around the watercooler, yes, but they’d be discreet about it and do it without animals writhing on their heads. Ugh. Demons.

‘They’d think it; they’re just too disgustingly polite,’ Beelzebub said. ‘Until they come across a demon and become all smitey.’

‘Obviously, that’s what they do. Smite the Evil One. Unless they’re bonded or siblings or otherwise attached.’

He let go of her hand. It was slightly better now. Still headache-inducing, as data continued to download, but better. Although he didn’t know if he’d _ever_ get used to it, feeling all those things. Rivers flowing. Demons working. Souls being stuck in their own worst memories.

‘If Aziraphale had killed Crowley, where would you be now, hmm?’

‘In Heaven. But we’re almost unkillable, so he wouldn’t have been able to do that even if he’d followed his orders and tried. No reason to speculate.’

She was silent for a while, also processing the zettabytes of information in her head. Then she said, ‘So this will really work? You’ve just made me a co-ruler?’

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? And it’ll be easier for me. In Heaven, there was no real, tangible power Michael and I could share to make supervising easier. Not for us, only for God and the Goddess. Here, there is. _But_ ,’ he raised a wingtip and a finger, ‘we really do things my way.’

She scoffed, ‘You mean the Heaven way.’

‘Get with the times, Bee. We’re not in the 14th century or in the 1980s anymore. Next year is 2020, and we need technology and infrastructure to keep up. Great things might happen.’

She looked him in the eye and grinned. ‘It’s going to be our year.’

‘Precisely,’ he agreed. He looked around himself, and beyond at the remote landscape. Which he could see without going there. That was kind of neat. ‘Now, about the vegetation…’

* * *

1 There had been a volcanic eruption four days ago. Those happened quite often, always spurting balls of lava that ended up on someone’s head or roof and contributing to the usual red darkness of the sky. At this point, demons paid no more attention to them than they did to the never-ending queues or Employee of the Month announcements.[✿]

2 Their contents varied demon to demon, however. Some of the observations he overheard were the following:

“Look, that’s Lord Beelzebub and Gabriel! Is he going to take the Throne?” “That’s Gabriel. He’s really Fallen.” “Look at his wings. Show-off.” “Stupid angel with his white suit, he’ll never fit in.” “So there will be a new King after all!” “Stolas said Decarabia told him Aamon had seen Lucifer haring out of the gates…” “What the actual fuck.” “Is _that_ wanker going to be our new King?” “Since _when_ is there even supposed to be a new King? Don’t we like, have the Parliament now?” “Finally a proper King!” “Fuck, I’d joined Lucifer in the Rebellion just to avoid working for Gabriel. Guess I’m retiring now.”

The last one was accompanied by a nervous laugh and dismissed with a _bye, Felicia_ by a random Eric clone.[✿]

3 She gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe. That headache was blooming in her head as well. It wasn’t as horrible as the last time because this time _she_ was on the other side of it, the one who felt it through the bond, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Her wings hurt. Her mind hurt. It would take a while to get used to it and learn to ignore it.[✿]

4 A few demons gasped upon hearing this piece of information. Most didn’t think much of it, convinced that he’d already been one when he’d gone and sat on that throne. Some time from now, however, angels would get hold of this information and collectively hold their breath for a minute.

In a cottage near Worthing, Crowley felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Something was up. Something serious. He frowned. He didn’t like it.[✿]

5 Crowley had fixed that a bit. But that had been more than a month ago, and a lot could, and did, happen in a month in Hell.[✿]

6 Or Body-Issuing Department. Both Heaven and Hell had one, but the difference was that angels got discorporated a lot less often and spent a lot less time queuing at the counters.[✿]

7 What he lacked in creativity, he made up for in determination and belief that whatever he did would work out in his favour. Lucifer’s Hell slowly changed based on his moods and emotions but didn’t really do so in a more significant way. He hadn’t made any conscious effort. Gabriel, on the other hand, knew what he wanted and made it so.[✿]

8 Another wave of gasps and _ohh_ s echoed through Hell. It all made sense. Gabriel misled just about everyone there for the sake of his own convenience, but to them, it all made sense.[✿]

9 As King of Hell, he could take petty vengeance for all the trouble demons as a whole had given him personally and Heaven as a whole without a war, he thought, at internally grinned at his own genius. He could also make them give Heaven less trouble from now on. Hmm. He’ll see. He was still a little confused as to where his allegiance lay, really, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that angels in general had nothing to do with his Fall. It wasn’t like the War.[✿]

10 That was about the most precise one could get. The exact date was in the records somewhere, but remembering was beyond even a celestial mind. Millennia were irrelevant and sort of blurred together after a while. The last six were only special because of the whole Apocalypse deal.[✿]

11 Smiting usually wasn’t lethal, especially not demon-on-demon, but it _was_ when the King decided so. Regardless of who held the post, they were almost as mighty as God Herself. The Throne’s power was just like that of The Throne in Heaven—only no angel had ever sat on _that_.

Of course, God was almighty in Her essence, but The Throne—once also made for two—was linked to the heavenly plane and channelled Her power as long as She sat on it. Which She hadn’t done in a while. It was eerily similar to Lucifer’s LA holiday situation. She still governed Heaven, but only formally, as it were. This might, naturally, beg the question: could an Archangel fully rule Heaven instead of God if they took The Throne?

They were too close-minded to even come up with the idea, let alone try. But yes. Yes, they could. Even Charlie or Adam could once they grew up, being essentially more powerful than their angelic parents.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Them: 2020 is going to be our year  
> Me: yeah it really will :)
> 
> They have NO IDEA.
> 
> Also, the end of footnote 11 was inspired by Supernatural and Jack. If you know you know.


	83. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo this time my excuse is that I too wrote a [fix-it for the SPN finale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661685) so if you're like me and have Feelings about it maybe check it out? <3

The moment Lucifer flew out of the gates, he found himself in—or, well, above—Los Angeles. The dimensions were clever like that. It was about the only clever thing about Hell besides the Throne itself, being able to appear wherever you chose to.

He’d been on Earth twice since his departure, but neither of those times had the hot and humid summer air and the sight of open sky felt as sweet as now. Before, the visits were just that: visits. Now he was coming home.

For a while, he let himself enjoy the crisp wind ruffling his feathers and the Californian sun shining obnoxiously into his eyes. Then he swerved and finally headed for the penthouse. He alighted on the balcony. The plants still lived. Everything was in its place. The flat was spotless and didn’t smell weird. Oh, how he’d missed that. And his clothes, and his bed, and his kitchen, and his alcohol.

But most importantly, his favourite humans.

How could someone hate Earth when there were so many good things? Honestly.

Speaking of clothes and favourite humans. He’d been wearing the same suit for a month and even had to miracle it extra-durable. He _really_ had to change. No—take a shower and _then_ change. Stupid unpredictable volcanoes and their ash. It got everywhere, especially when you were _flying_.

And then. Then he could see Chloe at last.

He walked into the bathroom, took the suit off, and spent more than two hours getting ready[1].

Afterwards, he patted to his closet, naked and about two pounds of unidentifiable stuff lighter. And stumbled upon a suspicious blade-sized slit in the floor. That was odd. He looked around and nothing else seemed out of place, but—no, hang on. Crowley had been here, and Maze had been here. Had they _fought_? In his _penthouse_?

He hadn’t mentioned that in the voicemail. Only that he’d told her about the Secret. Which, being back, Lucifer would have to deal with eventually. Especially since a number of growingly alarming entries had popped up in her file yesterday, starting with Class C: bound hands with zip tie and ending with Class B: transported two men to police station.

Two men she’d tortured, prolonging it with miracles of conviction by the looks of it.

There’d been a crime. Somehow, Beatrice had been involved. Teleporting her to Linda’s house had been Maze’s first Class B miracle and third miracle altogether. He’d been worrying about that. All of that.

There were those unlimited capabilities Beelzebub and the other Princes had feared, weren’t there? He hoped that it wouldn’t escalate and become a problem too fast. Hell wasn’t his anymore, but as he might’ve mentioned, a whole bunch of Cambions waking up and rebelling could prove fatal to a lot of beings quite quickly.

But he was also extremely proud of her. He knew why he’d picked her as his right hand.

Anyway. He should stop thinking about that and get dressed, because he was all for ignoring his problems in favour of fun and pleasure, which spending time with his partner and maybe, dare he say, girlfriend certainly counted as. And the sooner he could do that the better.

He picked a white shirt and a navy Armani in the end, gulped down four fingers of liquid courage, and took the lift down to the garage, where his Corvette was waiting for him, untouched[2].

When he started the ignition, he couldn’t help but grin. It had been a while since he sat in anything other than dreadfully uncomfortable chairs, let alone his car. Hell was still all about _horses_ , not _horsepower_. It didn’t even have proper roads[3]. That was _not_ ideal.

He drove to Chloe’s slightly above the speed limit, as one does. It was exhilarating. He wasn’t even thinking about Gabriel sitting on the Throne and doing Dad knew what right now.

Okay, that was almost a lie. He tried not to think about it, but it wasn’t going well. It would all be in the Sunday paper. That was in two days. But two days were also too far away. But he’d have to call someone if he wanted to find out what happened sooner than that, probably Beelzebub, and that way Gabriel would know that he wasn’t as cool about it as he’d been in front of him. Bloody Hell.

Those thoughts, mixed with the much more agreeable prospect of seeing the Detective, lasted him the whole drive.

When he rang the doorbell[4], he really wasn’t thinking about Gabriel anymore, because someone was definitely home. He could hear noises. He was almost _nervous_.

The door opened, and revealed Chloe Decker, wearing a summer dress and a messy bun and fighting an urge to gape as he said, ‘Hello, Detective.’

‘Lucifer?’ she breathed, stunned. She was gorgeous.

‘Yes, it’s me. I haven’t got a secret evil twin or anything. I had a secret brother, but he’s not evil and nor is he my twin. I believe you met; he’d lent you his phone the other day.’

She didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she leapt forward and squeezed him tight, standing on tiptoes. He closed his eyes and squeezed her back, a smile on his lips. A content one. A real one.

‘Mommy, who is it?’ a child’s voice called from inside the house, and then the sound of steps grew closer and more rapid as the spawn ran to the door. ‘Lucifer? You’re back!’

More limbs joined the embrace. Good grief, a group hug.

Don’t let anyone in Hell _or_ Heaven hear that he loved it.

‘Hello, Urchin,’ he greeted her. He extricated himself from the tangle of limbs, and to both of them, he said, ‘Yes, I’m back, and for good this time. A brother of mine took over the business.’

‘Which one? Gabriel? Linda said he Fell[5]. Amenadiel said he was mean and arrogant but also a good manager. Sounds like a good King of Hell.’

‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Lucifer snorted. Then it registered. ‘Hang on, how do you even—’

Chloe gave her daughter a similarly wide-eyed look. Lucifer never hid anything from her, but they’d never discussed it outright either. She’d never seen his eyes or his wings. Since when did she know?

‘What? I’m not stupid. I’m not a baby anymore,’ she said as if _they_ were the stupid ones. ‘And for the record, I think it’s really unfair how the Bible got you all wrong. You’re awesome and can keep us safe if something that’s _really_ bad comes. I’ve always liked you, Lucifer. And Maze, too.’

‘Thank you. Finally some recognition,’ Lucifer said proudly. ‘And yes, it was Gabriel, but I would rather we changed the subject. In fact, why don’t you go to your room and let Mummy and I talk? You can watch Netflix or something.’

‘Yeah, Monkey,’ Chloe said, giving her the smile he’d categorised as “parental”. ‘He and I need to catch up.’ She turned to him. ‘But he’ll stay for lunch, won’t he?’

‘Why, Detective, I’ll even stay for breakfast.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s not get ahead of yourself here, yeah?’

On the contrary, he’d love to. But—all in due time, he supposed. That was alright.

Trixie sighed, tired of adults and their rubbish, and reluctantly agreed. Then her eyes lit up. ‘But you’ll bring me some cake and tell me _everything_ later, right?’

He nodded. He’d learnt a long time ago that she was always to be taken seriously. ‘We have a deal.’

‘Great!’ she exclaimed, and then she ran off in pursuit of whatever activity she would choose to fill her time with. Chloe side-eyed him—well, true, maybe not everything. The politics part was too boring even for him. The murder-solving and the magical throne and lava-hurling volcanoes and Crowley’s misadventures were much more interesting[6].

She finally invited him inside and shut the door. She headed to the living room, so he followed, taking the interior in. Nothing had changed here either. The heavy weight previously settled in his stomach grew lighter with every second he spent there, and out of Hell, despite the recent Throne-related development.

They sat on the sofa, legs pressed together.

‘So you’re out of Hell,’ Chloe began, ‘and you’re not coming back?’

‘No, not if I can help it,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, Detective, there will—hopefully—be no more sudden bolting to faraway places on my part. I fully intend to stay here. Can’t have Amenadiel running LUX forever, after all, not to mention the LAPD! I’m sure you’re utterly lost without my genius.’

‘Sure, tell yourself that,’ she snorted and shook her head. Then she took a deep breath and let it out, reaching for his hands. He gladly took them. ‘I did miss you, Lucifer. A lot. It’s been four months!’

Still a month earlier than he’d expected though. In case someone was counting. Which he was. Every day and every week, the confused calendar aside.

‘I know, and I’m sorry, but there really was no other way. Every day I thought of you, and every day I longed to leave and return to LA. But I knew that my responsibility lay with Hell no matter how much I wanted to avoid it, again, at least until I found another solution. Which I did—or rather it found itself—so it’s all good and well now, wouldn’t you say?’

‘You did the right thing,’ she said, squeezing his hands. ‘I’m glad you did, despite everything. It shows how you’ve grown.’

He nodded. Very seriously, might he add. ‘Yes. I’m amazing, obviously.’

‘You know what, I take it back.’

‘Well that’s just rude!’ Lucifer said, mock-offended.

She nudged his side. ‘So I suppose you’ll be back to running the club and consulting on cases? Being my _amazing_ partner?’

‘Naturally. I need to forget about Hell for a while, and there’s no better remedy than interestingly murdered humans, precinct coffee, and making fun of Daniel[7].’ He let go of her hands and draped an arm around her shoulders, guiding them both to lean against the pillows. He pressed a kiss to her hair. ‘And you, of course, Chloe.’

She relaxed against his side. She mumbled, ‘It must’ve been—horrible. I still can’t imagine.’

‘If by _horrible_ you mean horribly dull, dirty, and incompetent, then yes,’ he scoffed. ‘And worst of all, there’s no decent food and drink, and you have to miracle your clothes to stay clean.’

‘Miracle,’ Chloe repeated. She looked up at him. A question was burning in her eyes. ‘Crowley mentioned that, that it’s like—magic or something. But I’ve never seen you do it. Or talk about it. Why?’

‘I don’t like doing it. It feels too much like asking my Father for help. It comes from Him, you know. Controlling and shaping Hell is one thing…’ He trailed off, staring off into space. Then he said. ‘I save it for dire cases only.’

Which his suit and wings were, clearly.

‘But others do it, apparently. Demons,’ she noted[8].

‘That’s their business, not mine. If they’re not uncomfortable then by all means, warm up your coffee and unjam the printer with all the divine power you like.’

‘Mhmm.’

He glanced down. Her brow was scrunched up in thought. ‘But?’

‘It would be like, so useful sometimes. You know, when we’re trying to catch a difficult perp, or trying to find something, or escape a nasty death…’ she listed. ‘Just saying.’

‘Yes, so I’ve heard,’ he sighed. She raised an eyebrow. ‘From multiple siblings. They’re very annoying.’

She reached for the hand not holding her close and laced their fingers together. Lucifer felt something very warm spread through his insides. ‘One day, you’ll really have to tell me more. I feel like I learned more in four hours with Crowley than in four years with you!’

‘Perhaps one day,’ he replied, avoiding a definite answer. He didn’t like talking about the past. He didn’t always like remembering. But she probably deserved to know at least some bits. Like about the stars and planets he’d created. Those were his and his siblings’, not God’s. Not really.

Although… sometimes he felt like telling her more than she already knew would only make her face the fact that he really was an _angel_. Not just the supposed Big Bad of most religions, but a being older than the Earth itself, someone who had seen stars be born and civilisations rise and fall. Someone who would outlive her by billions of years and might not even remember her in the end. He was—he was afraid of that.

That she’d choose to leave before things could even get the chance to become serious.

But to him, she was almost as bright as one of those stars. It didn’t happen often he met a mortal this special, and he wanted to hold on to her for as long as he possibly could[9].

Well. There was that whole thing with Amenadiel and the blessing, but after a lot of careful deliberation, he’d chosen not to dwell on that too much. Free will and all that. Linda would probably agree.

‘We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Chloe agreed, giving him the biggest smile. ‘We do.’

‘Now, what was that about lunch? I’m afraid the last thing I ate was a piece of a wedding cake a month ago, and I’m honestly _dying_ for some pasta. Can we make some?’

* * *

1 There was ash and all sorts of other disgusting things he didn’t even want to think about in his wings. Which meant that he had to wash them. Manually. In the shower. It was a _pain_ , and wet wings were heavy and _clumsy_. But it was better than miracling it done, and if he didn’t want to submit himself to the mortifying and lengthy ordeal of drying them with a hairdryer, he had to use one on that, which was already one more miracle than he’d like. And then he had to straighten some unruly feathers. It was a whole process.[✿]

2 It lacked a layer of dust, as did his entire flat. They were subconscious, self-sustaining miracles and didn’t count.[✿]

3 Which would change, but he wasn’t going to be there to see it.[✿]

4 He had a key, but he wanted his entrance to be dramatic. Letting himself in and surprising her in the living room wouldn’t have the same effect to it as waiting outside the door and letting it reveal his presence.[✿]

5 Amenadiel had found out from Michael the day it happened, after his call with Lucifer. He, Linda, and Maze talked about it when Trixie stayed at their place yesterday. They knew about Maze, too, but Trixie had promised not to say anything to Mom yet, so she wasn’t going to talk about that. But Maze was _so_ awesome. The coolest.[✿]

6 Naturally, he got it all twisted. But all the better for Trixie, who _wanted to_ hear about demons and everything.[✿]

7 He kind of missed that. Missing Detective Douche! He’d never thought he’d live to see the day.[✿]

8 Not long after Chloe got off the phone with Lucifer and gave it back to Crowley, Tribe Night was over, and everyone went their separate ways. But instead of going with Linda and Maze, Crowley joined Chloe and walked her home. They talked. About all sorts of things. Miracles came up when he kept putting things in his impossibly tiny pockets and taking them out again. Other topics included working with Lucifer, angel gender, favourite alcoholic beverages, or Hollywood classics.[✿]

9 Which could be for very long. He was an angel, as he’d said. Therefore, he had access to deceased souls in both places and could theoretically be with her forever. Or some thousands of years at least. But _that_ penny was still in the air and would probably take a while to drop yet, because sometimes, even the Devil could miss the obvious.[✿]


	84. Vengeance

Lucifer did end up staying for breakfast in the end.

He’d crashed on the sofa. No sex had occurred, only kissing and cuddling. But kissing and cuddling was pretty amazing too, and he got to do that with Chloe now! So, sofa notwithstanding, it was a definite improvement from an old settee and the dark, damp Hell office where he’d spent the last four _months_.

That being said, it was Saturday now, meaning Amenadiel would probably be at the club all day if he were anything like him, getting ready for the evening and at the same time still recovering from the Friday night crowd. It was the perfect time for a visit.

Or for taking LUX back from him. You know. _Thank you for watching it for me and making sure it doesn’t go bankrupt; now scram and let me restore it to its usual glory._

Chloe had other plans. She wanted to go to the beach again and invited Lucifer to join. Which would be absolutely delightful, no question. Beaches were another thing Hell only offered a poor imitation of[1], and it had been almost a year since he last swam in the ocean—not to mention all the bikini and swim shorts-wearing people he loved to observe and be observed by in return! But he, unfortunately, couldn’t afford that kind of mucking about yet.

First, he had errands to run. He could go tomorrow, and said as much to Beatrice and her. Venice Beach could surely survive one more day without him.

He let the two of them get on with the preparation[2] and got in the car with the promise to see them again the next day, or in the evening should Chloe decide to pop by LUX. Again, he disregarded the speed limit—he’d heard that Crowley and he had that in common, hah—and strolled inside the building about fifteen minutes later. Hopefully, Amenadiel would be downstairs somewhere.

He was. But so was Mazikeen.

They were standing behind the bar and talking to a few employees. The moment they spotted him, everyone fell silent. The two of them threw him matching menacing glares. He was confused. Maze he understood, but what had he done to Amenadiel[3]?

The employees greeted him and welcomed him back but quickly deemed it appropriate to disappear and leave the three of them to the impending Serious Talk. It was probably the glaring.

‘Lucifer,’ his brother said. ‘I had no idea you’d be back this soon.’

Maze pulled a blade out of nowhere and twisted it on her finger. She whispered to him, ‘Can I just throttle him?’

‘No, Maze. Give him a chance to explain first. I’m sure there’s a reason for everything,’ Amenadiel told her, to Lucifer’s relief _and_ consternation. He was a little worried about the _first_ there.

He had to be aware of what they’d once done to the Lilim, then. Yesterday, Beatrice had mentioned the foiled bank robbery, Maze’s abilities, and teleporting to Linda’s. He’d know about everything, probably. Not just Gabriel’s Fall.

‘Thank you for the warm welcome,’ Lucifer quipped. Maze let out a growl. ‘I’m doing utterly wonderful, and Hell is dealt with, thank you for asking. Now, what seems to be the problem here?’

Maze opened her mouth to speak, or perhaps growl some more in Lilim, but Amenadiel beat her to it. ‘Hell is dealt with? How?’ he asked, brow furrowed thoughtfully. ‘You don’t mean—no, surely it can’t be! _Gabriel_?’

‘Yes, dear old Gabe took over. Can’t say I’m too excited about it, but it’s not my problem anymore, is it? I can stay here now. For good.’

‘Not your problem,’ Maze scoffed. The blade flitted back and forth like a demonic fidget spinner. ‘Just like the Lilim weren’t your problem anymore after you _mutilated_ us? _Lied_ to us? Took away our powers and made us your slaves, only good for labour and treated like we didn’t even matter?’

Lucifer walked closer, holding his hands up. ‘You’re right. It was horribly, terribly wrong, and I can’t even begin to justify what we’d done. Your own parents feared you so much they betrayed you.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I was against it at first, and Crowley was _definitely_ against it, but I let Beelzebub and the others convince me it was a good idea and then convinced him to become an accomplice, which I shouldn’t have done. As an Archangel, I should’ve—I should’ve known that taking someone’s wings was the worst thing one could do no matter the circumstances. I should’ve just taken the risk and let the Lilim be themselves; maybe if I’d cared, the threat of being overthrown by you would never have existed either. There’s no excuse for that. I’m guilty as charged. Do what you will; I only hope that you see it was _not_ my idea. And keeping it secret, well. That went hand in hand with everything.’

He’d had two weeks to think about this. What Lilith and the rest of them had done was practically the same as God casting His children out of Heaven and taking away their grace. It was horrible. And a product of a different Lucifer’s mind, he told himself.

‘I’m glad you recognise you’d made a mistake,’ Amenadiel said, ‘but how _could you_ , Luci? You didn’t just lie to _them_ ; you kept it from _everyone_. Even me. They might be demons, but in the end, they’re still living beings who had their true selves ripped from them. That’s what my years on Earth helped me understand—and I know you do too, but I’m suddenly reminded why I despised you.’

Yes. So was he. No need to throw it in his face.

Also, there was the reason for the glare, probably.

‘We were told we didn’t have a _soul_ ,’ said Maze. ‘Sure, maybe it’s on us for being stupid and not connecting the dots, but whose fault is it that we never got a chance to?’ She slowly walked around the bar and pointed the curved blade at him. She stopped about five inches short of his chest. ‘Yours. Because only the King has the power to control the whole realm like that.’

‘Yes, you’re right. In hindsight, it _was_ colossally stupid. But now with self-actualisation—’

She punched him in the face. Something in his jaw cracked. He touched his lip and found blood.

‘That won’t get us our wings back, will it!’ she screamed. She punched him again. He’d seen it coming this time, but he’d allowed it. ‘And the worst thing, Lucifer, is that you’re right—telling everyone would be too dangerous. Crowley said it. Knowing my siblings, they’d fuck the Universe up if they had powers and turned against you, Beelzebub, and everyone else—if _Gabriel_ didn’t _kill them_ first[4]. There’s no good option here. Nice work.’

She came at him with the blade.

He barely dodged her. He glanced at Amenadiel for a little help, but it looked like he wasn’t offering. Which was probably fair.

‘When I asked you to cut my wings off,’ Lucifer panted as he narrowly avoided getting slashed, again, ‘in a way, Maze, that was—’ He ducked and slipped behind her. She immediately turned round. ‘That was my punishment for what I’d done, too.’

‘And then you got them back even if you didn’t want them,’ she spat. ‘I’m not saying I _want_ mine, but I _am_ saying it’s unfair.’

She charged at him again. He didn’t jump away in time, and earned a kick in the stomach. He reeled.

‘Obviously!’ he cried. ‘Maybe you didn’t notice, but the entire time, I’ve been doing nothing but agreeing with you here, so if you could just—’

‘Stop? Well then you could just answer for your crimes, eh?’ He blocked the knife with his arm. Her other hand punched him in the exact same spot as before. He was tempted to say it hurt like Hell.

He didn’t want to fight back, but his instincts were starting to protest.

‘Beelzebub and Gabriel know,’ he said, retreating. ‘Whether they do something about it is up to them, but I told her about you and proposed a few ideas on what to do, subtly, without upsetting the balance[5]. I can’t answer for it, not in the way you want, but I can, and did, give someone else the opportunity to make it better for the Lilim.’

‘Cool,’ she said, deadpan. She threw one the knife at him. It flew right past his shoulder and would’ve hit its target if he hadn’t swerved in time. ‘And my mother? What about her? She did that to _her own children_.’

‘She was trying to protect you. Thought if you grew up believing you didn’t have a soul, you’d be tougher and more suited to survive in the pits of Hell.’

‘Where she sent us in the first place.’

She threw another determined punch at him. This time, she missed. Not deterred, she held out her hand, and the blade flew right back to her like a magnet to iron. She couldn’t do that before. It was impressive, but also decidedly not good for Lucifer.

‘A little help here, brother?’ he actually called at Amenadiel, who’d been observing the scene with alarmingly chill disinterest, this time.

He hesitated, the frown not receding, but eventually stepped forward and inserted himself between them. Maze struggled and tried to push him aside, but he blocked her. ‘Alright, that’s enough, Maze.’

‘Sorry, nothing personal,’ she told him. Then she decked him with the full force of her muscles and demonic resolve. He staggered, distracted just long enough for her to procure a second blade and get to Lucifer again. He quickly backed off and even thought about stretching out his wings and flying away.

He didn’t think fast enough. His back hit against the bar. He grabbed a tumbler from behind it and threw it at her, and then his fist when she knocked the glass out of the way. He avoided her next attempt at slicing his torso in half, but he had nowhere to move without miracling himself out of the situation.

He was fast, but she was faster.

She jabbed the other blade in his gut. That caught Lucifer off guard. The other came a second later.

‘You stabbed me!’ he cried, startled. Amenadiel stood equally startled six feet to his left.

‘You’ll discorporate and come back,’ she hissed, ‘but in the meantime, try to imagine what it’s like to believe you don’t have the option and think you really are going to die. Because that’s what happens to us, and because of that belief, we _do_ die. How about that.’

She pulled her knives out. Lucifer groaned. He pressed his hands against the wounds. Now it _did_ burn like Hell.

She looked him dead in the eye and added, ‘For the record, do you _really_ think that _Beelzebub and Gabriel_ will care? She was all for it, and he’s a dumb selfish bitch. A good demon, maybe, but not a King who cares. If _you_ cared, you’d know that and actually stay.’

Hah. He’d probably see them again very soon. Maybe he could ask.

‘I care,’ he said, panting, ‘about humanity. About Earth, my friends, _Chloe_. That matters. Forgive me for not wanting to be a part of a club that I was forced to join and become the leader of by my manipulative divine Parent and His lackeys.’

Michael. And Gabriel. And the old Amenadiel. But mostly Michael.

‘You were born there[6], but Hell was never _my_ home. Never will be. That makes it all the worse, I know. You have every right to be angry with me. And I understand why you did this. Just—if I’m not back by tomorrow and Chloe asks, tell her what happened, won’t you?’

She stared at him, jaw clenched. Then she put away her knives and said, ‘I _am_ angry with you. And I don’t know if I’ll be able to trust you again. Not after this. But she’s my friend, and you hurt her too when you left. So yeah, I’ll tell her.’ She turned to leave, but then turned back around. ‘And by the way, she asked me if I wanted to go to the beach with her today, and I’m going. Unlike you.’

She gave him a terrifying toothy grin and stalked off.

Ouch.

His body, also ouch.

The ties that bound his infinite essence to its corporation were getting thinner and weaker as it continued to bleed and shut down. He felt himself drifting away.

Amenadiel said, ‘I’m sorry, Luci. I should’ve stopped her, I—’ He glanced at the bloodstains on Lucifer’s shirt and back. ‘She had a few good points though. You do have a lot to make up for. And _Gabriel_? Is he really the _King of Hell_?’

‘Yes, unfortunately,’ Lucifer wheezed. ‘Bloody hell, I can’t remember the last time I discorporated. No, wait, actually—the hospital. Almost didn’t get back.’

He’d needed to go to Hell _very quickly_ to get a formula for a poison antidote for Chloe from a dead murderer, which he had, but then he’d got stuck in his own Hell Loop, where he stabbed Uriel over and over. With Azrael’s sword. His _Mother_ had to get him out. And then he’d run to Vegas for two weeks[7]. Pathetic.

Linda would probably tell him that he should actually _address_ the Uriel thing at some point. But they were just as much of a bitch as Gabriel, possibly even worse because they’d threatened him and tried to kill Chloe in addition to all that pre-Apocalypse business Crowley had told him about, so he’d rather not talk to them, thank you very much. He was fine now.

‘You’ll er, clean this up, won’t you? Don’t want Maze to go to jail for murdering me.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ he nodded[8]. ‘Michael was right, then. It really happened. The sides have switched, and everything is changing.’

Lucifer wanted to say he hoped it would be for the better eventually. He didn’t get the opportunity though, seeing as his consciousness finally slipped away from his body and left the material plane.

It was weird. He forgot how weird it was, travelling and walking without a physical form. All tingly and weightless.

Amenadiel could still see him, and he Amenadiel, but when an angel or demon discorporated other than in Heaven or Hell, it automatically took them to their respective head office. He felt the invisible force pull at him and gave in.

He only hoped that he could still get the priority paperwork despite _not_ being the King anymore.

When he opened his eyes, his true form’s eyes, he had trouble adjusting. It was bright around him. Painfully bright. He hadn’t expected that. Bloody hell, did _Gabriel_ do that?

He looked around himself and found a white hall, overlooking the Universe, and a few confused angels staring at him.

Wait.

Angels.

This wasn’t Hell. He was Risen, and he was in _Heaven_. ‘Oh, _fuck_ ,’ he groaned.

* * *

1 Rough sand that cut your feet if you walked on it barefoot. A burning sea or pools of lava. Huge monsters that lived in the burning sea. Some demons liked it, but Lucifer wouldn’t recommend.[✿]

2 Lucifer didn’t want to go? Well, fine, she’d text Ella, Linda, and Maze and see if they could make a ladies-and-children outing out of it. She didn’t have a shift, and it was 86 degrees outside, and she intended to take full advantage of that.[✿]

3 He’d hurt Maze. That was enough.[✿]

4 Gabriel had had a bit of a… _reputation_ even as an angel. But now he was Fallen, and the King of Hell, apparently. She had no idea what that looked like, and neither did she have the desire to find out. But either way, she was certain he wouldn’t bother locking rebellious demons up in the dungeon.[✿]

5 Beelzebub also had Maze’s file in her care and promised to keep an eye on it and make sure someone like Dagon didn’t go sniffing around it. It was all in Hell’s best interest. But in case someone _did_ find out and it somehow got to the Lilim, she had also received a few pointers on how Gabriel and she could possibly deal with it. Emphasis on self-actualisation and natural progress was number one.[✿]

6 Technically, she had been born on Earth, just like all the other Lilim, but they all went to Hell as babies, so pretty much everyone thought of them as hell-born. It had been so long ago that no one but Lilith really remembered the exact circumstances of their birth and arrival.[✿]

7 Despite their differences, Maze and he had similar coping mechanisms. The only difference was that Maze hadn’t brought back a fake wife, but honestly? She’d been only about two bad decisions shy of that.[✿]

8 In some cases the body disintegrated, but when the cause of discorporation were two stab wounds in the stomach? Nope. It would stay where it was, and it would be messy, and someone would have to dispose of it. Right now, that someone was Amenadiel. But he wasn’t as iffy about miracles, so he’d make short work of it.[✿]


	85. The Rebellious Son Has Returned

The angels stared. Lucifer stared back.

Did they recognise him? Probably. He was a very memorable figure if he did say so himself. Even if he hadn’t been in the Silver City since the War, they were bound to know this incredibly handsome and currently discorporated face, right?

Which, now that he mentioned it, hit him in that face like a stardust brick flying at full speed. He hadn’t been here since his Fall. Over two million years. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to get back and see it again, and frankly, he hadn’t wanted to because of all the traumatic memories, so he’d been avoiding it even after he’d Risen and _could_ technically set wing in Heaven without burning. But was here now because he was an idiot who hadn’t realised that due to his current angelness, he’d get dragged Upstairs rather than to Hell after discorporation.

Oh well.

It felt—bittersweet. Like coming back to the childhood home you got kicked out of. But mostly bitter, really, with a dash of unpleasant brightness and lots of weird.

Seriously, he hadn’t been there for literal aeons. It was _so_ weird. Especially without a body. Which, he now noticed, was fake-clothed in an illusory suit that was horrendously white-on-white and almost made him blend with the walls. Ugh[1].

Right. He should probably get a real one. Body _and_ suit. Since that metaphysical force had snatched and dragged him here, it meant he’d be able to do that, right? And then get out as quickly as possible and try to forget about this.

‘What are you lot staring at?’ he bellowed at the angels. Some of them flinched. ‘Someone tell me where I am and how I can get to the BID, pronto.’

The angel closest to him, some poor low-ranking sod, stammered out something that sounded vaguely like a syllable and looked like they didn’t know if they should hide, report this to someone, or obey that order[2].

‘Well? I haven’t got all day.’ The angel took a step backwards and gripped their translucent tablet tighter. ‘Oh, come on, what am I going to do without a body, hmm? Believe me, I have no more desire to be here than you do, so if you could just point me in the right direction and I’ll get out of your wings, there’s a dear.’

‘Keep going forwards until you see a lift and then head to the ninth floor,’ said a completely different angel somewhere behind him, equally baffled but quickly composing themself and putting some of that heavenly corporate etiquette to use.

Lucifer turned to them and dazzled them with a smile. ‘Thank you. See? That wasn’t so hard,’ he said. ‘I’ll be off now; please don’t tell the boss.’

He set off in the appointed direction. The sooner he got what he needed the better.

With several of his rarely used Cherubic eyes, he saw the bunch of angels flock around the one with the tablet and start whispering behind him. Oh well. He probably should’ve known that his orders counted for nothing here and such a thing as a discorporated Devil popping up in Heaven would immediately become the talk of the day. Or month, probably.

Everything was these days, he thought, what with Crowley being remembered, getting bonded, and then Rising, Hell getting a parliament, Gabriel Falling and becoming the King of it, and now this.

He sighed. Had he had a face, or hands, he’d rub it in exasperation as he waited for the lift to arrive[3]. Waiting was, unfortunately, a universal concept.

He sighed again when he arrived at his destination only to find about twenty angels in various states of corporation, curious and bewildered and terrified, facing the lift and staring as if they’d _known_. ‘Yes, yes, what a sensation, take a picture everyone, the rebellious son has returned!’ he said, growing slightly irritated at this point. ‘Now if you could just let me fill the paperwork and get it over with.’

‘You’re—you’re Lucifer,’ said Nathanael. Lucifer actually remembered this one, all about love, he was. He couldn’t be sure, but he strongly suspected they might have had a thing back in the day.

‘Yes, well done, Sherlock,’ Lucifer quipped, strolling into the waiting room. All eyes—and there weren’t few—followed him.

Nathanael furrowed his brow, not getting the reference.

Yeah. Lucifer was glad that the only angel he had to hang around with regularly was Amenadiel, who was slowly starting to learn all about pop culture and literary classics. The rest was just so mindbogglingly _boring_ , which, in case he was starting to forget, he was just reminded of.

‘How—what are you doing here?’ said a colleague of his, feeling emboldened by his note.

‘As to what, I discorporated, obviously. As to how, well, I’m an angel, aren’t I. Any more questions?’

He was being sarcastic but forgot another important detail: most angels didn’t know what sarcasm was, either. Two questions hit him at once, ‘But—but—there was supposed to be a war! You’re our nemesis! How are you allowed here?’ and ‘So what does this, er, mean?’

Lucifer squinted at them. Some of them genuinely seemed to be afraid and/or ready to throw hands should the need to arise. He couldn’t blame them. If someone had a reputation that preceded them by several lightyears, it was him.

He cleared his non-existent throat and said, ‘Dear old God lied to you. Angels self-actualise. Maybe you’ve heard about Crowley?’ A few of them nodded, uncertain. ‘He’s Risen. So have I, about three years ago[4]. Now, technically, that means we forgave ourselves and gave ourselves permission to return here or some rubbish—and I say _technically_ because I never intended to do so, but here I am, in a rather ironic twist of fate. God has nothing to do with it. And for the record, I never wanted to fight you; that was all Beelzebub and her minions following _God’s fake plan_. So rest assured when I tell you that me being here isn’t an act of war and isn’t meant to disturb the fragile peace between the two sides. I’m not even the King of Hell anymore, am I? But nor am I returning to the Host. I just want to get a new body and get the hell out of here. Are we clear?’

Some chose to be reasonable and nodded again. Some of them shared alarmed glances with each other. And someone said, ‘You say you don’t wish to disturb the peace, and yet you’re here spewing baseless accusations about the Lord. Again.’

‘It’s not a baseless accusation if it’s a fact,’ he said dryly. ‘Ask any of my siblings. I’d tell you to ask the Almighty Herself, but I think we all know She’s been unavailable for millennia now.’

‘She cast you out,’ the angel said. They stepped forward, brow furrowed. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘Well obviously, but I _am_ here and there’s nothing I can do about it! Do you think I wanted to be reminded of all this, the glory of the Silver City and all that I’d lost? Do you think I wanted to stand on the ground that’s been taken away from me, very painfully, by my own siblings? Of course I didn’t; I thought I’d end up back in Hell! But it disagreed. And look at your beloved Gabriel, the Messenger of God, already getting all warm as toast Down There[5],’ he scoffed. ‘So if you’d _please_ have a think about your bigotry for a second and show me where I can find the priority form, thank you.’

An angel who hadn’t spoken so far pointed at a small white interactive panel in the corner. Right. Heaven. It had touchscreens and stuff, not ink-stained paper.

He went and filled in all the items[6], one by one, trying not to mind the continuous stares and angry whispers of the ruder angels or the fact that some of the others were obviously texting someone. It was done quickly, probably because he chose the Archangel rank at the beginning, so at least that was something. In the end, it gave him a number and instructed him to wait.

‘This is so weird,’ noted an angel sitting by the wall. Lucifer had to agree. It was positively _bizarre._

Only about two minutes later, his number came up on a big screen in the front, accompanied by a soft, melodic ping. He did get the priority treatment then! He walked right past the waiting angels, smugly, and disappeared behind a sliding door that would hopefully lead wherever he was supposed to go.

A wide-eyed clerk was waiting for him on the other side. The first thing they said was, ‘You—golly, I thought it was a glitch in the system, or one of Rachiel’s pranks.’

‘A glitch in the—you do know that I’ve Risen, don’t you? I have been for a while, and it’s unlikely that no one should mention it, especially in _this_ environment.’ He vaguely gestured towards the group of gossipers in the waiting room. ‘Therefore I have a full right to be here and receive a body when I need one.’

He was getting tired of this. And it’s been like, _ten minutes_.

The angel blinked. Lucifer thought their name might be Miel or something; they looked vaguely familiar. Have they been working here this entire time[7]?

‘Er. Yes. Of course.’ They turned to their computer and scanned the submitted form. ‘It’s merely—unexpected. And somewhat baffling if I may be so bold as to say. I mean, you’re—you’re the Adversary, but there doesn’t seem to be a war anytime soon, and you’re Risen. The system accepts you as active, and the system is _infallible_. Or so it proves. Therefore, it must be right.’ They shook their head. ‘Baffling. Well, I shan’t question it. Please sign there at the bottom.’

There was another panel, which they pointed at. He did. Bureaucratic angels were something else. They weren’t angry, or accusing him of anything, or wanting to fight him. No, they simply conceded that if he was in the system, it had to be perfectly alright. Incredible.

‘It tells me that’s an invalid signature,’ they said a second later.

‘Oh, right, I used my infernal sigil. Suppose that’s not in the database,’ he chuckled. Internally, he was gritting his teeth. He drew another symbol with his fingers, one he hadn’t seen in ages, let alone _used_. It glowed golden rather than reddish. His angelic sigil. His original, Enochian name.

_Samael, Lightbringer_ , it said, and much more beyond that. It was his identity and his Function, all summed up in a single, complex symbol. If he were pronouncing it, it would leave a foul taste on his tongue. As it were, it left an unpleasant, inconceivable tingle on his essence.

He’d never really allowed himself to give it much thought and instead went with the good old avoidance and denial, but suddenly it felt _real_. He really was an angel, and although he didn’t care to, he could come and go as he pleased. Others wouldn’t be so pleased, probably, but he’d still outrank them all. Legally. Just like he was entitled to the VIP treatment at the BID.

But they’d adored him once, and now most of them hated him. Those who’d loved him the most and stood firmly by his side, supporting his cause, were all in Hell now. Heaven just had Michael and this bunch of servants who still ate up God’s every ancient word and thought demons either deserved to die or rot in Hell forever for all their blasphemy. Or didn’t even care at all, which was honestly the worst.

‘Alright, all good. Your corporation should be ready soon,’ said the clerk. As an afterthought they were ashamed for not realising sooner, they added, ‘Prince Lucifer.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t give me the Uppity Archangel Treatment; I won’t smite you or report you for not being formal enough, honestly. I don’t even belong here.’

It was weird how that made his incorporeal insides crawl even more. He’d been the King of Hell for two million years. He was more than used to formal addresses. But this was the one for angel royalty, again something he hadn’t heard in ages because he hadn’t _been_ that in ages[8]. He certainly didn’t count himself as one of the Seven Princes of Heaven. There was a difference between being an Archangel and _actively_ being one.

Could one even be both a Prince of Hell and a Prince of Heaven? Because it was kind of funny. In a tragic way.

‘Well, it’s better to be safe than sorry. This is an unprecedented situation,’ they laughed nervously. ‘G—have a nice day, then.’

They were probably smarter than he first thought; he had to give that to them. They almost gave him that _God be with you_ line, but no, they quickly corrected themselves given the company. Lucifer decided that this angel wasn’t quite as horrible, actually.

‘Appreciated,’ he said with a nod, and then he went where fluorescent arrows guided him to get that body. He hoped it would look the same and not be _blond_ or something. He wasn’t doing _that_ again.

He emerged out of there five minutes later, wearing an identical body[9] and a more appropriate dark grey suit. It all went surprisingly smoothly, not like it did in Hell. _That_ clerk had freaked out a bit more, yes, but they’d quickly got over themself and got it done, and even given him the fabric colour of his choice.

Lucifer took the lift to the ground floor, guessing that if he got outside, he might be able to figure out where he was and how to get back to Earth, all the while enjoying the New Corporation Feel he hadn’t experienced since, what, Ancient Greece?

Except. Nothing could be that simple, could it?

When he walked out of the lift, a whole _crowd_ of more curious, enraged, and even _awed_ angels had come to gawk at the Devil coming back to Heaven and was waiting outside—because of course the gossip travelled that fast. They had smartphones.

Worst of all, right in the middle of it stood Michael, rigid hands clasped behind her back and lips pursed. Next to her, he recognised Hamaliel, wearing a different hairstyle than back in the day but otherwise still the same angel. He noticed Ariel and Gadreel and Suriel and Jeremiel and some others, too. But his attention was still on Michael.

‘Lucifer,’ she said, trying not to betray any emotion.

‘And here I thought this day couldn’t get any worse,’ he said, smiling wide. ‘Hello, sister.’

* * *

1 Oh, he wore light suits sometimes, for example to the beach. But never with a white shirt underneath and white shoes and white _everything_. That was just wrong. Heaven was just as much of a fashion disaster than Hell just in the opposite way, he thought, and firmly stood by his opinion. Someone should update whatever rule it was that said fake clothes on discorporated angels had to be white. Definitely before Crowley inevitably ends up there at one point or another and bitches about it loudly enough for the entire dimension to hear.[✿]

2 The Adversary in Heaven! Wait—the _Adversary_ in _Heaven_!!! But wait—Archangel Samael giving an order! What the Earth is even _going on_???[✿]

3 It had automatic sensors that reacted to bodiless angels as well. That was clever. In Hell, you had to rely on someone else to need the lift and push the button, or you used the stairs, because of course you did. And in the discorporation paperwork queues, you had to dictate everything to a clerk who transcribed it for you, as you were unable to hold a pen. It was all very taxing.[✿]

4 And then Fallen again a year later. And then Risen once more a few months ago. He wasn’t going to complicate it though. They didn’t need to know that it could fluctuate annoyingly often if one, for example, murdered Cain to protect their partner and felt like a monster afterwards but then made a huge, selfless sacrifice in order to save basically the entire Universe.[✿]

5 Or so he imagined. He still didn’t know anything and was steadily growing more nervous about it somewhere at the back of his mind.[✿]

6 It responded to non-physical forms _too_ , which was kind of the point here, but still. A clever, clever interface. If he absolutely _had to_ name one thing he liked about Heaven, it would be all these modern technologies. Would Gabriel implement something like this in Hell, too? Because he wasn’t going to lie, it would be beyond useful.[✿]

7 Yes. She has. She didn’t even remember what the BID used to be like before it was called the BID, but a lot has certainly changed. Not the angels though. She and her co-workers knew almost everyone who was assigned a body at this point and even knew roughly how often they should expect their next visit. Not _Lucifer_ though. That was _new_. Really new. Or really old, come to think of it, because he hadn’t been there in 2.2 million years, said the records.[✿]

8 He was a Prince of Hell, yes, but no one had ever called him that. ‘My Lord’, yes. ‘My King’, yes. ‘Lord Lucifer’, yes. ‘Lord Morningstar’, ‘Your Majesty’, ‘Your Royal Disgrace’, ‘Dark Lord’, all of that. He’d always been a King before a Prince, and even then, it was ‘Prince of Pride’. Not that one. Never that one. They knew he didn’t like to hear it.[✿]

9 At least as far as he knew. He had yet to test it in bed, after all.[✿]


	86. Déjà Vu

Several angels had spotted _Lucifer_ at the Body Bureau. That was what Hamaliel had said on the phone, and what Michael couldn’t quite comprehend.

Lucifer. In Heaven. Discorporated. _Lucifer_.

Against her better judgement, she immediately dropped everything—including her phone, although just in her pocket—leapt into the air, and set off for the bureau.

She didn’t have a plan. A strong part of her was protesting and desperately clutching at the idea of avoiding him for at least another decade, but she had to see it for herself. That was all she could think about. Was it _true_? Could he really come back, just like that?

She was aware of the fact that he had Risen, of course. Some angels couldn’t stop praising him for it, and for his “selfless decision to return to Hell and fulfil his duty”[1]—which he now fully abandoned anyway. Some others, like Camael, were outraged. And what with the news about Gabriel and Crowley, it was _everywhere_. But Michael, well. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. It had always been just that, a fact that she could keep at the back of her mind and not pay too much attention to because there was no significant impact, no serious, permanent change. Lucifer had still been on Earth or in Hell, out of sight and not prompting her or other angels to rethink everything just yet. He wasn’t returning to Heaven and making them face the music.

Until now.

Until he wasn’t the King of Hell anymore, because Gabriel was. Hamaliel had been right. Yesterday, he had taken over the Throne and rewritten history. And some unwritten Hell laws, apparently[2], because of course he’d change everything. He was _Gabriel_.

He was still the same, demon or not. He changed the weather and cleaned things up and didn’t want to fight Heaven, because despite everything, he probably still felt like he belonged there. Michael had been worried, but he didn’t want to fight. He was her brother. Not an enemy.

Well, sort of an enemy. The King of Hell was the King of Hell. But as she’d told her friend, she still couldn’t see him as the Adversary, and she wouldn’t, and he hopefully wouldn’t either. Things between Heaven and Hell might even—change.

Perhaps they already did.

But back to the actual Adversary, who was now having a new body made and making things a lot more complicated for Michael.

She’d told Crowley that it probably wouldn’t go well, meeting him. In all honesty, she had no idea what she was going to do once she saw him. Everyone was—well, everyone was right, weren’t they? It was all a matter of perspective. Her real issue was with him as a person, not as an Archdemon, because she couldn’t face what she’d done and move on. Face that it hadn’t been solely his fault.

She hated him, blamed him for everything, and convinced herself that he was the very definition of evil and blasphemy. It was convenient. That way, she could live with herself and feel good about obeying an order to cast her own sibling out of Heaven. But… it had all been easier when the good memories of the days before he became a flaw in the Plan that had to be done away with and thoroughly punished didn’t trouble her conscience.

But with Crowley had come the memories, and with the memories came pain, and with pain the inherent need to squash it down and put a lid on it, but she couldn’t, she couldn’t, not if she wanted to learn and do better. She had to keep that in mind.

She also kept her sword within easy reach. For self-defence, you know.

She gracefully landed on the ground and walked into the lobby, where more than two dozen angels were loitering and whispering already. They must have heard the gossip. She spotted a knot of blue braids in the crowd and instinctively drifted towards them, the only angel she could count on to keep her from doing something incredibly stupid[3].

‘Michael,’ they said. ‘You came.’

They almost sounded surprised. She couldn’t blame them because really, so was she.

‘It’s true then, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Lucifer came back. And he’s not—he’s not wrecking the place or trying to—do anything.’

‘No, not as far as I know. It was a matter of chance, an inconvenient discorporation.’ They shot her form a cursory glance. ‘You’re not going to do something foolish, are you? You should remember what I said. Even what Crowley said[4]. Don’t let your rage get the best of you. _Think._ Don’t let him provoke you, and don’t provoke him, either; we don’t want this to end in a catastrophe.’

Michael hummed and stared ahead, fists clenched. Then she asked, ‘What do _you_ think?’

‘I think it’s extraordinary, is what it is. But these are extraordinary times. Nothing is what it used to be. He had Risen, after all. No reason why he couldn’t be here.’

Well. Yes. He was even in the records. Still, Michael couldn’t help the frown. ‘Did you like him? Did you—miss _him_?’

They chuckled. ‘Didn’t everyone? Like him, that is? Before? He was magnetic and oh so bright, like a living sun,’ they reminisced. ‘But I’d always liked Crowley, Rae, and you better if you ask me. Even before the Star had gone out.’

She didn’t say anything to that. A pool of inscrutably painful warmth rippled in her core.

Upstairs, the lift started to move, and the entire lobby collectively held its unnecessary breath. Michael clasped her hands behind her back and assumed what she prayed was a neutral pose.

And there he was. Lucifer Morningstar in all his restored angelic glory, strolling out of the lift and then suddenly stopping short. He scanned the crowd until his eyes locked on hers.

She tried not to give away any of the rage and hurt and regret that lurked under the surface as she called his name.

‘And here I thought this day couldn’t get any worse,’ he said with a faux smile that reminded her too much of Gabriel and made something inside her twist. ‘Hello, sister.’

She politely cleared her throat and addressed the flock of angels. ‘This is none of your business, please disperse. And do proceed with discretion if at all possible, thank you.’

It was probably futile, she thought, but she could try. Slightly embarrassed, and even indignant in some cases, they remembered their very important duties and scattered. Hamaliel turned to leave as well, but she quietly bid them stay. Right now, they were her impulse control.

‘There’s no point, the entire Universe knows by now. Angels, worse than humans sometimes,’ Lucifer scoffed. He turned to Hamaliel. ‘Hamaliel, isn’t it? I like what you’ve done with your hair. Why are you still here? Come to gawk, have you? Or is it to make sure Michael doesn’t discorporate me again? In which case, thank you; I’d _just_ got this body and I’d hate to go back there. How utterly humiliating.’

‘Or perhaps to make sure you don’t discorporate her and make even more of a mess of things,’ they retorted. ‘Nevertheless, welcome back, Lucifer Morningstar. It’s been a while.’

‘You could say that. Would have been longer if someone didn’t stick two demon blades in my stomach[5]. Speaking of which, where do I find the exit?’

Michael clenched her fists tighter. He was _so_ arrogant. His face was _so_ punchable. But it was also unfamiliarly familiar and brought up more long-buried memories than she could successfully repress.

‘Running so soon, are you?’ she said. ‘That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? You don’t even _think_ about others, no matter what the little fan club that’s formed here after you’d gone to Hell thinks.’

‘Fan club? Oh, do tell.’

‘Some angels praise you and admire you for what you’ve done,’ she said, coldly enough to put Aziraphale’s customer-smile to shame. ‘But look at you. You passed the Throne to Gabriel and now you’re running back to Los Angeles and showing us nothing but contempt. Hadn’t the Gates opened up to you again? Given you a chance?’

‘So I should love the place you’d kicked me out of? Beg to come back, to see it again, take a swim in the sea, rejoin the ranks of my Father’s pathetic slaves?’ he spat. ‘I fought for freedom in case you forgot.’

Michael’s immaterial feathers ruffled. She felt for the grounding presence of the hilt of her sword. ‘We are not _slaves_. How dare you.’

‘No, you’re right—you worship and revere Her, and what have you got? Abandonment, just like everyone else. The only difference is that you’re too blinded by your own haloes to see it. Except, hold on a second, who’s the new King of Hell? It’s all falling apart, Mikey.’

He was being smug about it and dared to grin in her face and call her _that_. The unflattering memories, those that had made her hate him in the first place, fought their way to the surface. She was all the more tempted to wipe that grin off his face and send him right back to the BID and make sure he didn’t get the priority treatment this time around.

She was vaguely aware of a voice telling her to breathe and be rational about this, but instincts and millions of years of habit were stronger.

A hand on her forearm stopped her just as she was about to grip that sword and bring it forth. ‘Perhaps,’ Hamaliel said with uncanny calmness, ‘but times are changing. Being an angel isn’t about faith in God, is it, or you wouldn’t be one[6]. No, it’s about faith in yourself, love, and the Universe. Among other things.’

‘You’re not afraid or angry,’ he noted after a few seconds of squinty contemplation.

‘Ah, it’s the memories. Remembering you boasting about naming a planet after yourself and then getting hit in the face with magma and sputtering for days[7] will do that. I’m familiar with that Lucifer, not Fallen Lucifer, and if you knew any of the things I’d told Michael and Crowley, you’d know where I stand on free will and the Original Sin.’

Lucifer’s likewise immaterial wings ruffled, but in a pleased way. That annoyed her.

Hamaliel had a point. Still. This was Lucifer, not Crowley, not the Healer who’d fallen in with a wrong crowd. It was harder to face him and the reality of what had happened between them. She was acting in defence. He was too.

The problem. The real problem was that they were too _alike_.

‘I get why they all like you,’ he concluded, delighted. ‘And let me tell you, you can do much better than _her_.’

Well, that did it.

Michael gave him an icy smile, freed herself from their hold, and punched him in his smug face. It staggered him. She had a feeling that this wasn’t the first time today, which he’d absolutely deserve. He inspected the gold running from his nose[8], and at that moment, she drew her sword.

Despite her better efforts, an audience was gathering again.

‘Oh you’ve got to be joking,’ he said, putting his hands up. His eyes were fixed on the blade. ‘But then again, this is your true nature, isn’t it? You may look pretty, but underneath it all, you’re just a fight-hungry jealous bitch looking for an excuse to stab something, and me in particular. Again.’

She lifted her chin and pressed the tip of the blade to his chest. She could feel it moving with every breath he took.

Something in her chest stirred. She experienced a shiver-inducing moment of déjà vu.

Then Hamaliel unfurled their wings, and with one mighty beat, they sent them both reeling. Michael’s eyes snapped to them. They never used force. Ever[9].

‘You’re siblings,’ they said. ‘You’d hurt each other. You’d both suffered serious trauma, and what you need is to talk in a _civilised_ manner and admit that you’d both done wrong and learn how to start to heal, but all you do is keep hurting each other.’ Their eyes, storm-dark, bore into Michael’s. ‘Can’t you see that he was spiralling into a _panic attack_?’

She looked at him, still breathing fast although he didn’t have to, wings tucked close to his form, a slight tremor in his hands.

The memory flashed through her mind again, the one she hadn’t stopped thinking about since she’d got it back. She couldn’t imagine—he was seeing it too, wasn’t he? And he’d been the one on the business end of the sword.

She vanished it back into its pocket space. They gave her a nod. ‘There. Now, as your _friend_ , I’m telling you to come with me. Both of you. You’re going to sit down, listen to some calming music, and lay it all out there.’

* * *

1 Or so she’d heard from the Nine at the latest meeting. Not only did some angels not want to fight demons, but some also actively encouraged the idea of demons redeeming themselves and Rising, apparently. She wasn’t against it, per se. She just thought it was a very strange world and couldn’t believe she knew her own subjects even less than she’d thought.[✿]

2 She’d heard about that from Azrael for a change. They’d stopped by and told her everything, about visiting him prior to his taking over Hell, about the things he’d said and done, about Beelzebub becoming a co-ruler, even about the offhand remark about Crowley that revealed his Rising to _everyone_. The two of them talked for hours. And then came the gossip, too.[✿]

3 Mostly because Michael had told them to be fair with her and not be afraid to give her their opinion, so they knew that they could call her out without any serious repercussions, unlike the other loitering angels who _might_ notice inappropriate behaviour and want to intervene but wouldn’t dare because of her rank and also, you know, _Lucifer_. Someone who had regularly hung around Archangels in the past wouldn’t have that problem. Presumably.[✿]

4 They’d talked about it after the meeting. She mentioned some of the points he’d made. She _didn’t_ mention that bit about unresolved relationship drama.[✿]

5 Demon blades? Was that how he discorporated? Did a demon do it? Why? Were they still rebelling against him, or was it because they thought they could get away with it because he was no longer the King? Interesting. Michael had a lot of questions she’d never dare say out loud, or even think too loudly, right now.[✿]

6 Lucifer’s mind came to a halt. That was. That was a good point, actually.[✿]

7 Crowley had done that, naturally. Naming a planet after himself? Who did that! He definitely deserved a lava cake in his face for that kind of pride.

For those wondering which planet it was, we’re talking about Venus, otherwise known as Light-Bringer, the morning star, or even Lucifer in Latin. Fun fact: Lucifer was originally the name of the planet, because it translates to ‘morning star’ (and here comes the irony of Lucifer Morningstar’s name), and only later it became a metaphor for Satan and _then_ a name used for his original angel identity. But really, in Latin, lucifer is just a word meaning ‘light-bringer’ and refers to multiple people in the Bible, even Jesus. It’s all in the translation, and it’s hilarious. Really, that’s why it being a nickname for an angel originally named Samael makes more sense because ‘Lucifer’, ‘Morningstar’ and ‘Lightbringer’ _all mean the same thing_ , only in Latin and English. Which are human languages the angels wouldn’t even know back then, but we don’t want to go too deep here, so let us get back to the story.[✿]

8 Hah! Gold! That hadn’t happened in a while. He was usually on Earth, around Chloe, when he happened to bleed, and her—well, power, really, made him a little more human and made him bleed red. Also, camouflage. Red blood was one of the few low-grade miracles he kept up to avoid too many questions and oddly glowing skin. But this was a brand-new body and the Silver City. Of course it was gold.[✿]

9 They didn’t like violence and preferred to solve conflicts with words, but they were a highly trained high-ranking angel all the same. They’d fought in the War. They knew that sometimes, there was no other way but using a bit of force, especially with someone as _stubborn_ as these two. Neither of them would back down, and it always ended in blood. Well, someone had to _make them_ back down. This was why Michael had asked them to stay.[✿]


	87. That Is the Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *long note ahead, can skip to tl;dr*
> 
> This would've been up earlier but instead of editing, I accidentally wrote more yesterday and had to split the chapter in two. And then I didn't get to editing the first bit. It's been a while since that happened, lol.
> 
> Which brings me to—you guessed it—saying that there will be more than 88 chapters after all. You guys. I hate this (by which I mean to say, I really really don't). I may have a chapter plan but by god, do these characters keep refusing to follow it. You know how I mentioned spontaneously born plot bunnies in ch 80? Well. They breed quickly and often, don't they. Because there were more. This entire thing with Lucifer discorporating and going to Heaven was an idea I had mid-editing an already written chapter, and I couldn't let it go, so I rewrote the ending and had Maze stab him instead of Amenadiel stopping her and Lucifer just... walking out of there. But look where it got us. Classic snowball effect. Because my mind's really chaotic (although it might not look that way because somehow this is still coherent and hopefully maintains the illusion of being planned this way from the start??) and keeps coming up with plot twists that I don't expect but absolutely roll with because they make me go !!!!!!!! This is actually good and NEEDS to be a thing!!!!! 
> 
> So yeah. I give up. I have no idea how many chapters it's going to have. It'll end when it'll end I guess! And since we're at it, I also decided to bring in this _big_ arc that I've known about for a while but initially chose to ignore, but then... it's been brought up quite a few times, and it's a perfect way to close all the plotlines that have been developing here in an actually closed way, so, you know. Why not. I won't tell you what it is; guess you'll have to see ;) 
> 
> (Know SpinnerDolphin's Angel Network? I too meant to write one short work and ended up with a tonne of new ideas that won't stop coming. Only I keep adding them into the same work rather than a series.) (If you don't know it, then what are you doing with your life? Go check it out!)
> 
> One last thing: I'm really glad you like Hamaliel!!! So do I. And tbh at this point I sometimes forget they weren't in the series. So I guess I should tell you that when thinking of an actor who'd play them, I imagine Sonequa Martin-Green with blue hair. Short haircut (as seen in ST Discovery S01 & 02) for pre-war era, braids (Discovery S03) for present day. I see the angel as a bit more androgynous but she's who I think fits best—and as a bonus, she plays the only other she/her Michael in the history of television, who's partially named that because of a connection to the Archangel Michael, and I think that's hilarious.
> 
> TL;DR: there will be a lot more chapters than 88! Yay!

Michael and Lucifer both followed Hamaliel out of the building and into their office. They walked in front of them, and their wings were a buffer between them, prohibiting any swords from materialising and stabbing the other’s corporation. Their true form’s temporarily manifested star-eye was also glaring at them from atop their head[1], so there was that.

She hadn’t seen such a display of power from them since the War. But they were the leader of an entire choir. They gave orders, made choices, and managed their subordinates just like anyone else, even if one sometimes overlooked it because of their kindness and virtue. They were one of the Nine, the second-highest-ranking group after the Archangels. Even—even _Lucifer_ listened and trailed behind them like a hurt puppy right now.

Michael thought it was incredibly attractive of them. Dear Lord. What was that human saying? That absence made the heart grow fonder? Well. It was possibly true, and Michael had, possibly, been an idiot in the past[2].

They’d said as much. They’d also got over her. That was fine. Michael had never expected to get bonded to anyone, in any case, so she’d stop thinking about this and not make things overly complicated for herself or anyone else.

Hamaliel led Lucifer and her to a nest of throw pillows in the corner of the room, picked two[3], and set them down on the floor, six feet apart. That was further than her sword could reach. ‘Here. Do sit down.’

‘This is preposterous,’ Lucifer complained. ‘What’s to stop her from throwing a dagger at me or something? And do you really expect me to take part in this—this pseudo-therapeutic session with her? Do you even _know_ Michael?’

Actually, she agreed. What _was_ the point of this? Especially since he couldn’t even bother trying to cooperate, as was evident from his previous note. Maybe they were siblings, but Hamaliel couldn’t expect this to work. Foolishly optimistic Virtue.

‘Well, I happen to have talked to her a few times in the last two-or-so million years, so I’d say I know her better than you do at this point in time, Morning Star,’ they said. ‘And you need to talk and be honest with each other, or you’ll never get anywhere, and neither will Heaven and—well, I suppose Hell is out of the picture here now. Still. So please, sit.’

Michael pursed her lips and frowned at them. They raised a _well?_ kind of eyebrow. Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? And she should try, she _should_ ; she’d told herself that. So she acquiesced and sat on the pillow, all the while glaring Lucifer down. Until he got the same eyebrow, scoffed, and sat opposite her.

‘So what now, I share my grievances, she denies everything, and we finally declare this experiment impossible and go our infinitely separate ways?’

‘You think you’re so entitled, don’t you,’ Michael said. ‘That everything is about you. You don’t even give others a chance.’

‘Oh please, like you of all angels want any of this. Am I wrong? Am I?’ His eyes had a furious gleam to them for a second, but his wings spoke differently. Wounded. Tight[4]. ‘And of course, in this case it actually _is_ about me.’

Hamaliel pinched the bridge of their nose and took a deep breath. Then they snapped their fingers, and soft drum music drifted from the air[5]. They turned to Lucifer. ‘Yes. It is about you. But it’s also about the feelings Michael is trying to bury, and her own pain and guilt, which she is unable to face.’ Then they turned to her. ‘And he, Michael, feels the same, covering pain with arrogance. He’d suffered unimaginably, and most of it was at your hands.’

Having winced their wings in, they sat on the pillow mound and rested their back and head against the wall. ‘You loved your brother once. Forget about Hell, demons, and his rude, uncooperative attitude for a while and tell him what you feel, _honestly_. Or tell me.’

Lucifer opened his mouth to speak, but they held up a finger and said, ‘If you’re at all capable of it, do _not_ interrupt. You’ll have your turn later.’

He shut his mouth, then opened it again to undoubtedly say something even more caustic than whatever he’d wanted to say before. But their unsettling divine eye convinced him to sit in a sulk and listen to what Michael had to say.

Which she had yet to think through. Talking about things was the last thing she wanted to do. She’d wanted to avoid this. She might have even mentioned that. Being angry at him, and fighting him, was easy. If she had to sit and talk, she was forced to face the pain and the memories, and she had no idea what storms that might unleash.

After a minute or so of tense silence[6], Lucifer snorted a muttered a _right_. Hamaliel still waited.

‘Fine. You want to know how I feel?’ Michael asked, looking at them. _Or tell me_ , they’d said. She could do that. They were talking now. They’d told her to be honest with them.

‘I am in _agony_. Lucifer had started a war that created an insurmountable chasm between us and changed Heaven forever. For years and years, he was so obsessed with opposing our Parents and sowed the seeds of dissent and destruction, seeds of evil and blasphemy, of the possibility that God was imperfect and nothing was as we thought—and he succeeded! He took _Raphael_ and a third of all angels with him. But he was also entirely right. Free will, God playing games with us and not filling us in on anything, wrong orders, it was all true. And I had believed, truly believed. So much so that I’d been happy to carry out the order to expel him—because it had to be right, didn’t it, when it came from Him? We’d got rid of the Great Evil, the Beast, the Star That Shone Too Bright. But really…’

She risked a glance at him. His face was made of stone, unreadable.

‘Really, it was _my_ doing. My seeds of doubt that made him question and drove him to the edge, to the unthinkable. That is the truth. And I couldn’t endure it afterwards, in spite of thinking that it was the right thing, so I chose to suppress the agony and forget. I lived in deliberate ignorance and became cold in the end. I lost my emotions, my love, the only chance at a relationship I ever had. I lost two beloved siblings but couldn’t care less, not until Crowley Rose and gave us the memories back. I have been seeing flashbacks ever since, and the pain, it’s—too much to bear.

‘I transgressed. I made excuses. I treated everyone poorly and abandoned the true values of Heaven. I know that now, and I’m trying to do better, to fix my mistakes. I’m not—I’m not very good at it, but that’s—well, I suppose that’s because I couldn’t face any of this.’ She let out a miserable chuckle. At last, she gathered the courage to face him. ‘I hated you, Lucifer, because otherwise I’d have to hate myself and answer for the wrong _I_ did. It was easy. It _is_ easy. You were the culprit—or shall we say the _scapegoat_?[7] _Everyone_ hated you.

‘But it broke my heart. And I broke yours, undoubtedly. I hurt you, irreparably, and for that I am sorry. I know those words probably don’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things, but I am. You have Risen. You have healed and proved that you were capable of love and kindness and mercy. You showed up here rather than in Hell when you discorporated, and that means something. Out of the two of us, you’re the one who has managed to heal despite living with the pain, in the shadow of what I’d done, the entire time. That shows how you’ve grown. And shows how wrong I was. If I had the chance to do things differently now, I would.

‘I mean—Gabriel is the King of Hell now, and do I resent him? Am I denying Crowley entrance to Heaven? No, I wished to bring him back once I learnt of his Rising and tried to manipulate him into it. So my issue has clearly been with you personally, as you said, and although you _are_ rude and irritating, the sole reason for that was my own inability to admit that I may have done wrong.’ She turned back to Hamaliel. ‘There. Is that enough of a confession for you?’

Her heart was pounding in her chest and her essence was fluttering, mirroring it. Uneasy heat was spreading through her insides. She waited for someone to say something, for him to destroy her with yet another blow and exploit this vulnerable state she hated being in.

But he sat on his stupid gold pillow and looked genuinely flabbergasted and at loss for words.

Hamaliel reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you for being honest with him, and yourself. That was. Quite something.’ They pulled back a little too soon and turned to him. ‘ _Now_ is your turn. How do you feel about Michael and her actions and words, truly?’

‘Has it ever occurred to you,’ he said to her, uncharacteristically sincere, ‘that all I ever wanted from you was to hear you admit that you screwed up as much as I did and realise that maybe Dad and Heaven aren’t as perfect as everyone seems to think? And perhaps show some sympathy? That was what the—I’d tried to make you _see_. And you stubbornly refused.’

She wanted to respond, but he continued, ‘Don’t bother answering, that was a rhetorical question. I know it hasn’t. Well. I know that now. I had no idea that you couldn’t remember, did you know that? And it does explain a lot. But still, Hamaliel was right, Michael; you have _no_ idea about the pain you’d inflicted on me, and everyone else, too. Cast out without mercy, into that wretched place, by your own sibling, who had apparently _manipulated_ you into rebelling—how would _you_ feel if the roles had been reversed, hmm? Ever think about that? Because I do, a lot, and I hate every second. And I didn’t even know! Because of course you’d do something like that.’ He huffed. ‘How _typical_. You’re right. _Sorry_ won’t fix it.’

* * *

1 Each angel had a given number of divine eyes. Seraphim and Cherubim were the most notable ones because they had _lots_ , but everyone had something. Powers, for example, had seven, as Crowley had explained to Mazikeen. Virtues only had one, a shining star above their forehead, but that eye could see all. It saw the universe. It could also be extremely unsettling when it stared at you, which was useful at this moment.[✿]

2 Not just in the past, someone might note, and they’d be right.[✿]

3 They were mostly white, grey, gold, and blue. All shades of blue. There could have been twenty of them. Lucifer got a gold one and Michael a silver one. Those had been the colours of their armour. They were doing that on _purpose_ , cheeky angel.[✿]

4 Hamaliel hadn’t been wrong. Lucifer wouldn’t go so far as to call it a panic attack, because he was the Devil; he didn’t _have_ panic attacks. But seeing her, being here, and then the assault? It brought up some memories, and he had a tough time shaking it off. He’d had to calm his heart and his breathing, and he really, really wanted to be back home with the Detective and away from siblings who’d caused him trauma.[✿]

5 [Listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCFfjp0bPuM)![✿]

6 Filled with the music, which continued to sound from non-existent speakers, of course.[✿]

7 If none of that made him break his poker face, this did. He grimaced. Did she _have to_ bring up the goat thing? _And_ the Biblical scapegoat thing if that was what this was also about? Really? Now? Not that he wasn’t more preoccupied with the rest of her speech, but _still_.

Occasionally, Michael did have a sense of humour.[✿]


	88. Like Twins

‘I think of that moment all the time,’ Michael said. It was true even of this moment. That _face_ , _his_ face, did it. ‘I see you and Crowley there, on the ground, covered in blood and barely able to defend yourselves with the staff and a broken flaming sword. It’s unbearable.’

‘Because you can’t stand the sight of us, can you?’ Lucifer accused her, shaking his head.

‘Because I can’t stand the sight of me condemning you and casting you out so mercilessly, and knowing how I’d felt about it then.’

She’d believed it was the right thing and didn’t question it. Merciless—she said it herself. But when the War was over, she was left with an emptier Heaven and an odd vacuum where the bonds to her siblings used to warm her. It devastated her and drove her to suppress any and all thoughts of it and focus on work, aggressively, to the point of forgetting. Helped by Crowley and his own wishes. Now the past had caught up to her, and she was all the worse for it.

And there lay the irony—the Fallen _weren’t_ , and neither was Azrael, the only one who remembered[1].

‘Well, now you know and feel like shit. Welcome to the club. Two million and fourteen thousand years later than you should have, but who’s counting, eh?’

‘I’m trying to make up for it,’ she defended herself. Then she stilled her mind and reminded herself what was the point here. ‘I know the past cannot be undone unless you’re Her, but the future is unwritten and entirely up to us. As the Ineffable Plan suggests. As Hamaliel pointed out to me. It’s an—opportunity.’

‘Yes. I heard. Finally listening to your subjects now, are we?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes, we are. You created a parliament in Hell and tried to erase some of the disparities between Greater and Lesser Demons. And refused to leave unless there was a willing replacement. I suppose—well, I suppose that is commendable of you. I never said.’

‘No. You insulted me and my methods and talked your usual bullshit about me declaring myself better than God if I remember correctly. Which I’d never done.’

‘I didn’t remember anything then, it was—’

‘Back to the poor excuses!’

‘You both use offence as a defence mechanism,’ Hamaliel interjected, arms stretched towards them as if to stop them from lashing out. ‘And you tend to react similarly and do similar things, although you don’t like to admit it. Always have done. Almost like twins. That’s why you fight, and why it’s such an explosive force that only ever ends in wars and catastrophes. You’d forgotten that when combined, you can create universes[2].’

‘Pshh, twins!’ Lucifer exclaimed. ‘Preposterous.’

‘He’s the _youngest_ ,’ said Michael. ‘That’s why he was the favourite.’

Neither of them commented on the fighting and creating, and both pretended not to notice the fact.

‘Oh, don’t you know? Amenadiel is the favourite. The _eldest_.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Naturally. We’re both equally overlooked in the end. There was never any reason to be jealous, really; it’s not my fault that I’m the more alluring and attractive one! Desire is my shtick, while yours is fear. Do the maths.’

‘Secondary _shtick_ , if anything.’ She was a Warrior. And had been a Creator. Once. She hadn’t thought about those times for longer than she cared to remember until Hamaliel—who only knew from stories—reminded her. It had been _hundreds_ of millions of years ago.

She frowned. ‘And I’m not jealous of you.’

‘Somehow I find that hard to believe,’ he said. ‘The War speaks for itself. You admitted it.’

Hamaliel cleared their throat. The look they gave her was full of apprehension. ‘Have you—is that true? Have you manipulated him into it[3]?’

She licked her lips and didn’t want to say it. But there was no point in keeping that secret anymore, was there? She’d already blurted it out. ‘I’d asked Uriel if there was a way to punish Lucifer and his followers for their sinful thoughts and what it would take. One conversation. One single conversation on the outskirts of the City, and weeks later, a third of Heaven had Fallen. I’d never meant for it to go as far.’

‘So it was _Uriel_?’ Lucifer cried. ‘Why am I not surprised! They’d had it out for me since we were _fledgelings_. That’s—well, not that it brings me any pleasure to say it, but it wasn’t your fault after all. They must’ve given you the means to start that particular sequence of events on purpose.’

Michael had never considered that. Mostly because she’d never really considered the War before the memories came back. But even so.

Lucifer’s expression told her that he was thinking about the same thing and wasn’t too pleased about it either[4].

‘And to think I’d ended in a _Hell Loop_ where I killed them over and over! That utter _bastard_.’

She blinked. ‘You—what?’

‘I stabbed them with Azrael’s sword, thought they actually died because, you know, Death, later discorporated for unrelated reasons, and got stuck in a loop because I felt guilty about it. Mum got me out. Amenadiel later told me they just discorporated and went for a new corporation design. End of story. I’m sure you’re beyond overjoyed to hear of my pointless misery and stupidity.’

‘ _Az_ would have to be the one holding the sword for them to die,’ Michael said. ‘Everyone knows that. I agree that being guilty about it was stupid. But that’s—Lucifer, that’s how _I_ feel about. Crowley and you. It’s not nice.’

‘No. It’s gut-wrenching.’

‘And you felt the same.’ She snorted. Softly, like an angel should. ‘Well. Look at that. I had no idea.’

She’d heard the other side of that story, from a furious Uriel who had been stabbed by the Adversary and prevented from carrying out their mission. That had only strengthened her beliefs and made her hate him more. But Uriel wouldn’t know what happened to Lucifer afterwards. They’d gone away to sulk.

‘That’s because you two never thought to sit and talk,’ Hamaliel said, ‘and instead chose to resent each other and made up your mind about each other.’ They sighed. ‘Uriel? Really? I’m not entirely surprised, but—oh, that—’

‘Bloody bastard!’ Lucifer spat.

‘Yeah. That.’ After a while, they added, ‘Now I get why they’ve been hiding ever since we found out about Crowley.’

‘Do you think Az knows?’ Michael asked either of them.

‘Can’t say. They’re playing nice with everyone and even talking to them, I’d heard,’ Lucifer said, bemused by that kind of attitude. He probably couldn’t imagine what that was like. Neither could Michael.

‘But they were _pissed_ when they found out that Uriel had stolen their flaming sword,’ said Hamaliel, to him. ‘Uriel had to tell them when they asked about the discorporation. In consequence, they were pissed at you too for not returning it and instead using it to cut a tear in the fabric of reality and send Mother to another universe.’

Michael didn’t know they knew so much. At this point, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. She really should pay more attention to the rest of Heaven. Soon. When all this chaos is over and they finally get to the survey and other internal matters of import.

‘That probably didn’t help the idea you’d all had of me, I imagine,’ Lucifer said. ‘Nevertheless, it seems that we’ve all been deceived, and they might be the only one who knew about it.’ He turned to Michael. ‘Besides you, but you didn’t realise, because of course you didn’t. For a manipulator, you’re so utterly oblivious sometimes.’

‘You know what—’

‘Michael,’ Hamaliel said. ‘Relax. A, that’s how he is. B, he’s not wrong. You never thought to share that with me? Any of that? I’d have helped you figure it out.’

‘When? It’s been three weeks since I came to you. We aren’t so close for me to tell you my deepest secret, _sweetheart_. You’d pushed me, if we’re saying things as they are. Today too.’

‘I’m only trying to help you, and sometimes, you must step out of your comfort zone to allow that to happen. Didn’t it? Help you?’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘but that does not change the fact that things are moving a little too fast and one can barely catch a day to think about it before something _else_ happens. I can’t do things at my own pace and out of my own volition.’

‘Well, it’s not my fault that I’d got stabbed, ended up here, and walked into a lobby where you’ve been waiting, is it?’ Lucifer said, picking up on her very train of thought. ‘That was all you and Mazikeen, who stabbed me because _Crowley_ told her something because he can’t keep his serpent mouth shut.’ He sprung to his feet and buttoned his jacket. ‘Am I free to leave now? Because I have a lot to think about and so do you two, clearly[5].’

Hamaliel nodded.

‘Splendid. I’m glad we cleared this up, sister, but don’t expect me to come back. This—’ he pointed between them— ‘is still very, very far from alright. _However_ ,’ he paused for dramatic effect. ‘I won’t fight you unless you give me a real reason. Can I hope for the same from you?’

She breathed in, breathed out. ‘Alright. We have a deal.’

Lucifer walked out of the office with a parting nod.

Well. That happened. For the second time this year, she had a conversation with Lucifer that didn’t end up with anyone being horribly maimed and discorporated, however close they came a few times. And although she said all those things, it wasn’t—it wasn’t awful.

She had mixed feelings about Uriel right now, actually.

And in a way, she did feel better.

Which she should probably tell Hamaliel, who had closed their wings around themself and looked mildly furious under that usually comforting blueness of their eyes. ‘I apologise. It—I _am_ overwhelmed, but it did help. I like talking to you. And I’d never have found out otherwise.’

‘Neither would I,’ they said. Their wings twitched, and they hid their star-eye back into the metaphysical plane, where she wouldn’t see it staring right into her soul anymore. ‘The War wasn’t Lucifer’s idea. He might have done it anyway, but he might have not. Holy smokes.’ They sucked in a breath. ‘Although…’

‘What?’

‘What with what we’d learnt… well, I suppose the War had to happen. It was a fixed point. It was no one’s fault. If Uriel and you hadn’t lit the flame, someone else would have. Perhaps the Goddess. Perhaps God Himself. Those two fought all the time. We weren’t supposed to talk about it, but they _did_.’

‘But I had. We had. It still is my fault.’

There was one more thing she didn’t say. She hadn’t meant for it to go as far at first, yes. But she’d been on the frontline, and the fighting had become so intense and the cause so important that she couldn’t see beyond it anymore. She could have stopped it anytime. She could have stopped it with a snap of her fingers. But God’s orders were God’s orders, and in the end, she did more than just not stop it.

‘It was a long time ago,’ they sighed. They shifted on their pillows and then lay down, knees up. ‘And you were right. Things are moving, and changing, incredibly fast. We barely recuperated from last year, and now there’s—all this.’ With one hand, they gestured for her to join them if she so desired. ‘Come, close your eyes for a minute. We _do_ have a lot to think about.’

‘Are you inviting me to your _pillow nest_?’

‘It’s comfortable,’ they said, not an answer[6].

Michael shuffled over and put the pillow she’d been sitting on under her head. She stared at the ceiling. Right, they said to close her eyes. She tried to breathe continuously, like they’d told her when they explained meditation to her.

They asked, ‘So, what are your thoughts on Lucifer _now_?’

‘Conflicted,’ she admitted. ‘But changed. I feel like I understand his motives a bit better. And I agree with him—it’s not alright. It won’t be. Crowley said as much too. But I will try to hold up my end of the bargain.’ She paused and listened to the music for a while. ‘In truth… Uriel rather concerns me at the moment.’

* * *

1 What Michael didn’t realise was the past had caught up to _everyone_ , only in different ways. Crowley’s hiding, Lucifer’s decision about the Lilim, Gabriel casting out his bondmate, even Uriel and some of their unfortunate machinations. It was all calling for attention after the Nopocalypse. Really, Amenadiel was the only one who’d successfully confronted his past crimes _before_.[✿]

2 Michael Demiurgos created the matter. Samael Lightbringer gave it light and shaped it into being. That was how it had been at the beginning, before there were more angels than seven. God and Goddess could do it themselves, but they tended to be otherwise occupied, and their children needed to learn. That was why the multiverse was essentially infinite. One had to practise.

Eventually, their siblings joined in too. Raphael gave it life. Azrael gave it death. Uriel gave it laws. Gabriel gave it voice. Amenadiel gave it will. Their Parents populated it with plants and living creatures, and on the experiment went. Most universes were left unsupervised—aside from a regular check-up performed by God Herself every five thousand or so years—up until the last one, the Important One, which came into being more slowly, more carefully, with the help of the rest of angels, each of whom was assigned a single task. The Archangels had been too occupied with supervising those angels to have time for Creation, then.[✿]

3 They heard her the first time. But they barely had time to process it. Could it really be? Could she have started it, and not Lucifer? Because that would change. Everything.[✿]

4 Hamaliel was the logical one. They reached that conclusion as well. Uriel’s calculations of patterns and probabilities were renowned—sometimes even infamous—and absolutely inevitable once set in motion. But also, _what on Mars_. At least it hadn’t been directly Michael’s fault, but still.[✿]

5 If they were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck and get it over with. He had once. It didn’t work. Michael didn’t do sex or any of that stuff. But for crying out loud, was that will-they won’t-they thing _still_ ongoing? By the looks of it, they hadn’t even talked outside of work since the War. Honestly. Crowley took a little over 6,000 years. He took _four_ with Chloe. But no, Michael was an idiot and let one of the few sane angels slip through her feathers for _millions_. That was long even by a celestial’s standards. Well. He’d let her, because she was Michael. He didn’t like her. He didn’t owe her anything.[✿]

6 Nests. Angels didn’t really _do_ nests anymore, and if you asked anyone, they’d probably tell you it was an outdated practice from the Old Times when Heaven was altogether warmer and more social. But there were still some remnants of it in angel—and even demon—culture. A bunch of soft pillows in the corner of the room. An island of scented candles, nice rocks, and potpourri in an otherwise bare office. An entire bookshop in the middle of London, full of books than can never be sold. Seeing or being in someone’s nest didn’t have the same implications as it once did, but there still _was_ a certain meaning to it.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I might note that throughout the series, I also draw on Lucifer comics canon a bit, and it's probably the most noticeable in this one. Because as much as I love Lucifer TV, it's so different from the comics canon that it hurts. Michael and Lucifer are literally the two most powerful beings in the universe after God, and angels generally have similar powers to those in Good Omens (duh, it was written by the same author), but no, they made Luci super strong and that's it. And Michael and Lucifer's relationship is much more interesting in the comics (Michael's not evil for one) and so is the character of Michael himself. So my Michael here is a bit of a mix between GO!Michael and comics!Michael and has some aspects of TV!Michael too because the crossover involves that, not the comics, after all. 
> 
> I could name all the ways in which comics!Michael is awesome but we'd be here for a while so I'll just direct you to the [wiki page](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Michael_Demiurgos_\(New_Earth\)). 
> 
> And then. Since I'm already talking about this. In the comics, Gabriel was God's favourite (which would fit tbh) but he fucked a demon and Fell (at God's hand), fought Lucifer, killed God in revenge (!), had his memory erased, investigated God's death with Lucifer (who didn't tell him that it had been him), got kicked out of Heaven again (by Metatron this time), and started to serve Hell. So when you worried that he could be awful after Falling... well, yeah. He can be and he is. But it could be much, much worse as you can see. (P.S. he's also Jesus' father. Literally. In the comics, he didn't just announce to Mary that she was pregnant... he made it happen. Yeah. I know right.) (That makes Christ and the Antichrist cousins though! Makes sense actually.) (No, that won't be in this fic. Not with this Gabriel.)


	89. Times and Observers

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting at the table, reading the Sunday paper. Or papers, rather, for each had the copy of their respective previous head office’s weekly.

Why no one had unsubscribed Crowley from the _Infernal Times_ even after he’d been scratched out of the records he had no idea, but he wasn’t going to question it too deeply, let alone do something about it. Hell was chaotic, and the thing was. The thing was, the paper told him that Michael had been right about everything.

Gabriel had really taken the Throne. Everyone knew that he, Crowley, was back to being an angel. Lucifer had left Hell for good amid the first general election. Okay, maybe she hadn’t mentioned that, but he’d thought about it. It was utterly irresponsible of him. He’d expected nothing less.

Anyway. The article was four pages long, with pictures. And in one picture was the Throne, which had apparently doubled in size to accommodate not only the King but also the King’s consort, who was sitting beside him and looked very pleased with herself. Crowley had a bad feeling about that. One of them was one thing, but Gabriel and Beelzebub, both Fallen, ruling together? Nope, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

But back to the Throne, because what the absolute fuck. Did he just _do that_? Did he just change the fundamental way Hell worked and reshape the realm into a place one could barely recognise for the lack of redness, grime, and disrepair? He took the illusion Crowley once conjured and had the gall to make it real and thus piss off probably every demon in Hell! It was quite impressive, actually. But then he apparently killed _thousands_ of disobedient specimens, just like that, and made some laws even stricter than they’d been. Yeesh.

Crowley had told them why a different King wouldn’t be a good idea, especially one who made the place more heavenlike. They should’ve listened. _Lucifer_ especially. That was why the bloody _parliament_ was supposed to be there. So that he could go home but still keep Hell in check and everyone got what they wanted.

But what did he care, eh? He was retired. He didn’t work for Downstairs anymore. He had done his part, and if they didn’t listen, well. That was their loss.

It always was. No one ever listened. Not in the War, not before the Apocalypse, not now. But whatever. It wasn’t like he hadn’t got used to that by now. He was fabulous and had brilliant ideas all the same.

He put the paper down, rubbed his eyes, and finished his coffee in one gulp.

 _What’s it say?_ Aziraphale asked, still reading his. He knew, and Crowley knew that he knew, but still he said, _Gabriel is the King of Hell now. Yours?_

_Apparently, Lucifer got discorporated and showed up Upstairs. It caused quite the kerfuffle. So did you, dear. And Gabriel, of course._

Of course he did. He’d suspected[1]. He even knew about Lucifer, at the back of his mind, but he only fully realised the impact of it now and said, _What? Shit. Gimme._

Wordlessly, they exchanged their newspapers. Crowley began to read Heaven’s, typed in a modern sans-serif font but no less alarming in content.

 _Looks like he and Michael had that talk after all. Huh. And no one ended up discorporated. Wonders never cease_ , he commented, sarcasm wrapped around the last thought.

_Oh, I know! Your blue-haired friend stepped in, apparently, or they’d have fought to the death. All over again. She truly wasn’t exaggerating._

Crowley snorted out loud. _There’s that change she’s advocating._ He read on, eyebrows climbing higher. _But now they have a **truce**? Really? I mean—really? Satan and—well. Interesting. I guess Gabriel’s the enemy now and she actually listened to what I said. Unlike Luci._

It didn’t say anything about forgiveness or any such thing—or Michael didn’t, in the official statement the article quoted[2]—but they agreed not to fight. That sounded promising.

 _Oof. Did Gabriel really?_ Aziraphale asked, derailing Crowley’s train of thought. He must’ve come to the bit about the murdering and that picture of him and Beelzebub. _Yes. Yes, I did. I didn’t know that could be done! And oh, he’s horrible._ His wings shuddered. _I am glad to be free of him, let me tell you._

Crowley reached out with a wing and gently brushed against his, but his face was frowning. Yeah. So was he. If there was one sibling he wanted to talk to even less than he wanted to talk to Michael[3], it was him. Uriel was right there after him. At least they weren’t trying to do anything and didn’t become the King of Hell.

Then he read about himself in the _Observer_ , which had evidently described him as “the Great Archangel Raphael, restored to heavenly glory by the mercy of the Almighty” and called him “another rebellious child forgiven”, and glowered harder. He’d never read bigger bullshit in his entire life.

He did it himself, for one.

 _Media censorship. Omnipresent, I suppose_ , Aziraphale said, nose scrunching up. _I didn’t like that bit either. But don’t sell yourself short, Crowley dear; you are quite a wonderful creature and deserve all the praise, even if you don’t think so. You only tried to help._

_Don’t—don’t, angel. I’m not discussing all that with you again. I set off this whole chain of events; it’s not a nice thing. You know it’s not. You’re in my head._

_Yes. I know what you think, and you know what I think in response. There is no such thing as coincidences, even if there is free will. Not where we, er, we as in celestials are involved._

Crowley looked up and gave him a Look. He actually opened his mouth this time[4]. ‘I know, I know, me talking to Maze led to her stabbing him and him talking to Michael and coming to something of an understanding, which is really important, I know. I told her that, and I know it’s a good thing, but that’s not what I’m bloody talking about.’

‘No, but this outweighs the bad, don’t you think?’ Aziraphale replied. ‘Mazikeen didn’t restart the end of the world. And the family is healing.’

‘Yet,’ he said about the end of the world thing. He didn’t know how far Maze had gone, but what with Gabriel and Beelzebub, who could access literally _every mind in Hell_ , knowing, it was a matter of time before they blabbed about something worse than him Rising. Then he added, ‘And Gabriel. Really. I don’t like him—he’s an arsehole—but don’t tell me his whole situation isn’t colossally bad. There will always be an outlier, something fucking _wrong_. Anyway. I don’t care about my siblings. I don’t want to talk about it. These papers always make me—’

He slammed it on the table and swung to his feet, all in a second. He screamed into the palms of his hands. His legs carried him to the window without his direct input. Eventually, he dropped his hands and looked outside, breathing. Aziraphale was doing his best to be a calming presence in his mind.

‘No, you’re right. ‘S not all bad. Was about time those two talked about their issues. I mean—I don’t—’ He turned round to face him. ‘She’s so—’ _You know what I mean._

Aziraphale let out a resigned sigh. ‘Yes. Very well, dear. But there is no point in blaming yourself for any of this. We’ve been through that. There’s always good and bad, for as long as the Universe is spinning, so to speak.’

That was, so they’d agreed, the reason for everything. The Plan. There had to be demons just as there had to be angels, or there’d have been no one to tempt Eve and set humanity free. But the circumstances…

‘And I’m the _good_ , is that it.’

He grinned, like a bastard. ‘Yes.’

Crowley rolled his eyes. He felt good, he felt warm inside, but his dislike of compliments was rooted deep, and so was the need to take responsibility for things he did and didn’t do. Which, in this case, he did. Didn’t the memories mess everything up, first by being taken from everyone and then by being returned? Some for good, but there was Heaven’s coldness, and Gabriel’s Fall, and the attention Crowley was getting, and the rebellions, and—no, that was it, actually, but still.

This was why he disliked having power and preferred to stay in the shadows. No one noticed you, everyone disregarded you, and when you appeared in the newspaper, it was an article about a genius evil trick you did as an infernal agent of chaos and temptation. He’d shouted for the Universe to hear that he wasn’t hiding anymore, but sometimes, he missed it.

Aziraphale neatly folded the infernal newspaper. He decided, ‘Alright, let us not discuss this any further. What would you like to do today? It’s quite lovely outside, isn’t—’

Crowley’s mobile rang in his pocket. He checked the caller ID. Lucifer. Ah.

What a perfect time he picked.

‘—it. Well. You better take that.’

‘What?’ he said, having done so.

‘Hello to you too,’ Lucifer said, unexpectedly sour. ‘Guess where I’d been yesterday.’

‘Heaven. I know. _Observer_ , just read it. What is it? Isn’t it like—’ he checked the time on his watch— ‘three a.m. over there?’

‘Yes, but that’s irrelevant. Listen, brother, I have some news. I guess you know what Maze did?’

‘Yep,’ he confirmed. It was all in the paper. But he guessed Lucifer hadn’t read it. It was too early, and Amenadiel was the one with a subscription.

‘She did it. She has powers now,’ Lucifer said. Crowley sucked in a breath[5]. ‘And second, Michael and I have come to an interesting discovery. It’s about the War.’

‘Oh?’ he asked, looking at Aziraphale and raising both eyebrows. He raised them in turn. That didn’t sound good.

‘Apparently, she had asked Uriel about a way to get us punished for our blasphemous ideas, and they’d given her the trigger to a sequence which eventually led to the War and us being cast out.’

There was a pregnant silence.

‘You don’t mean—’

‘I do mean. Essentially, Uriel had manipulated Michael into manipulating me into rebelling, that _bastard_. Thought you ought to know, since it concerns you too.’

‘Well, fuck me.’ He paced along the length of the kitchen and back.

He knew what they could be like. He had no doubt that they’d restart the War if they learnt about the Lilim, use it as an opportunity. He might’ve even mentioned that. He knew about their treatment of Aziraphale, too, and that they’d tried to kill Lucifer’s girlfriend and their _Mother_. So this didn’t entirely shock him. But that didn’t mean he’d seen it coming.

Also, they’ve just moved to the #1 spot among siblings he wanted to avoid.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ Lucifer agreed. ‘Nothing is as we thought it was. Again. So, you know. It’s not—’ His voice cracked. Was he almost _crying_? But then he was back to normal in no time, if a little angrier. ‘It’s not my fault. It’s theirs. The perfect innocent saints.’

‘You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?’ Crowley asked, concern creeping into his voice.

‘What, confront them? Maybe you’ll be surprised, but that’s the last thing I want to do[6]. Michael might though. She was pretty—well, shaken up, I should say. It was an incredibly uncomfortable conversation, and I don’t intend to have one like it anytime soon. But I have been giving it a lot of thought. Even told Linda and Amenadiel. He wasn’t too happy about it either.’

Obviously. No one would be. Well, maybe except Gabriel, who probably agreed with their methods.

‘Damn me twice,’ Crowley said, blowing out his cheeks. ‘I know what a twat they can be, but this? This is fucked up.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘And I guess we know why they’re hiding, now.’

‘They’re nothing but a coward,’ Lucifer scoffed. ‘Hiding behind patterns and pawns and unable to face their actions. Or do things themself like the rest of us.’

Crowley scowled at nothing in particular. ‘Well, ta for letting me know. What’s one more secret to the pile, eh?’

‘Trust me, it’s giving me a headache too, in addition to even appearing in the Silver City and talking to her in the first place.’

‘Wait, you didn’t—you didn’t know that you’d end up Upstairs? Newsflash, mate, but you’re an angel. Even _I_ figured that one out immediately.’

Immediately after the thought of discorporation first occurred to him as he stared at the tip of Michael’s sword, anyway, but that counted.

‘No need to be so smug.’ He sounded like he rolled his eyes. ‘A lot has happened, as you well know. Didn’t have time to think about where I’d go if Maze actually stabbed me because I was more concerned with the thought of potentially being stabbed for what I’d done in the first place. And Chloe. Always Chloe.’

It was still weird to hear him talk about someone, anyone, like that. Let alone a human. Crowley wasn’t secretly going all mushy inside, or, like, _proud of him_ or anything because Chloe was kind of great and he was his older sibling. Nope.

He cleared his throat. ‘Is that all? I need to, er. I need to process this somehow. I’ve just read four articles about all this stuff and then you go and spring that stuff about Uriel on me? It’s giving me whiplash.’

‘Right. It’s a lot for me too, believe me,’ Lucifer said. ‘Cheers, Crowley.’

‘Bye Satan,’ he grinned, although no other than Aziraphale would see it, and rang off.

Then he immediately slumped against the worktop and wished he could turn into a snake and curl up on a rock outside and sleep for like a month. Saying it was a lot was an _understatement_. This was why hadn’t wanted to get involved. Being an Archangel was tiring, and one shitstorm after another, and could he get a new family or something?

‘Good thing there’s always good old me, then, isn’t it?’ said Aziraphale, a little too cheerful on purpose.

Yeah. Yeah, it was.

* * *

1 He’d been worrying since the Rise happened, goddammit. Even more so since Michael confirmed that thanks to Gabriel, everyone would probably know. It was _big_. Of course they’d make a fuss. Because they couldn’t just, you know, _move on_. If there hadn’t been that many annoying visitors before, there would be _now_. He trusted Lily to try and talk them out of it, but they couldn’t guarantee 100% efficiency, could they. In the end, everyone did have free will.[✿]

2 The event did, as Aziraphale put it, cause a kerfuffle indeed. And raised an unusually high number of questions for Heaven, which Michael, as the highest-ranking angel, had an obligation to address and perhaps even answer. So she called an emergency meeting, summed up what happened, and announced what it meant and what would be done next. Some angels agreed. Some didn’t. That was par for the course.[✿]

3 Again.[✿]

4 It was becoming a little easier, this sharing business and telepathic communication. He kept the channel open most times now. He also noticed that they went back and forth in their mind without speaking quite a lot. It was less effort, particularly when they were in the same house. Two days ago, a dogwalker caught them in the garden, gesticulating and making faces at each other without any actual words, and they had to miracle her convinced that that wasn’t the case at all, they were normal, thank you very much.[✿]

5 On the one wing, he was overjoyed and extremely proud of her. But on the other three wings, he became all the more worried about the rest of Hell finding out and overreacting.[✿]

6 He wanted revenge. He did. But just like Crowley, he mostly wanted to avoid them. He already had a lot of Uriel-related problems, and he didn’t want to risk another almost-panic-attack or another stab wound in either of their bodies, which would cause one anyway. In their case, someone _would_ end up discorporated, unless Rae-Rae was there to stop them—but if they were, their sword would be there too, and that looked too much like history repeating itself, _again_. No thank you. He’d wait for Michael to do something first, as this was the one thing he was more than happy to leave to her, and then have a sibling he still liked tell him what happened. He was trying to be rational for once, as per Dr Linda’s very insistent orders.[✿]


	90. To-Do List

Gabriel had been in Hell for four days. 

To him, that about equalled a human’s four minutes. Insignificant in the long run. He felt as if he had _just_ come there and claimed the Throne, and, in fact, he wouldn’t have noticed that it was Tuesday now had his phone’s remarkably accurate clock not told him so. But the amount of _work_ he had done spoke otherwise. He was actually so busy that he didn’t have time to think about anything else, and that was welcome indeed. He didn’t want to think about his Fall or Lucifer’s Rise and appearance in Heaven.

Yeah, he’d heard of that. He and Michael had talked and not fought. That was—well, honestly, he couldn’t even find words. Unexpected and utterly ludicrous, for a start. 

But so was the idea of the Archangel Gabriel ruling Hell, yet here he was. Co-ruling, anyway.

During those four days of co-ruling, he’d already got rid of the perpetual sulphurness of the atmosphere, ordered to have some trees and flowers—picked by Beelzebub because he wasn’t a complete idiot—planted, set aside a stack of laws, decrees, agreements, and proposals that he wished to discuss with the Parliament once it was fully established, given everyone except loop demons a computer, gone through a _lot_ of personal files, and peeled off all of those so-called motivational posters, instead replacing them with actual, positive motivational quotes that weren’t written in _Comic Sans_. Oh, and enlarged his office, had Beelzebub move in, and installed a ready-to-use portal to the House behind a door in the back. That way, it was yet larger, more convenient, and not like Hell at all. Just another room in the basement.

That was acceptable.

The hideous tapestry that hung on the wall wasn’t. Into a storage room it was to go. Which reminded him: he should really do something about the archives. Centuries’ worth of paperwork was turning into compost at the back of the enormous chamber, with new stacks added every day as more sinners died and went to Hell, not to mention old issues of the _Infernal Times_ and planet mission reports. And as he always said, Good Organisation Was an Imperative for a Successful Organisation[1]. 

He added another item to his to-do list: _declutter and digitalise archives_. Demons’ personal files were already in the system, courtesy of Dagon and her minions. Next in line would be the performance reviews he’d promised, which he’d begin tomorrow. Saturday would see the end of the registering process for the election, after which demons would begin campaigning, and he really needed to have the reviews done before that. 

Right. He wrote that down as well. 

Next, he added a note about giving everyone the knowledge and skill to use computers and all sorts of smart devices and come up with a digital voting program, because if ballots were to travel from Pandæmonium by snail mail[2] and end up on a million-piece pile of paper, all sorts of things could happen. This was Hell. Electoral fraud would absolutely be a thing, unlike in the US, where that orange asshole of a president made up all sorts of claims about the upcoming presidential election.

Another point: _get Hell to withdraw from the White House and cut off all support of Trump_. He had to go. Heaven had never approved of him and Hell’s meddling, and it wasn’t supposed to matter because the world was supposed to end, but it didn’t, and now he was here and had the power, so he might as well use it.

‘That’s Mammon’s deal,’ Beelzebub said in reply to his thoughts. He didn’t look up from his phone, but he knew that she was staring at him from where she was lying next to him on the king-sized bed he’d put in the office[3]. ‘Are you seriously about to tell him to back off? No, never mind that—are you seriously still working? Now?’ She scanned through the list and his mind. ‘There’s at least thirty items on there.’

She’d been dozing off; what was he to do? Sleep too? No thanks. He’d never indulged in slothful behaviour, and he wasn’t going to start now. 

‘Yes, and I feel it’s just the beginning, Bee. There are so many things to reorganise or even organise in the first place,’ he said, finally glancing down at her. Her hair was ruffled, eyes squinting, and mind irritated. ‘You agreed that we’d do it my way.’

‘Yes, but there are _limits_ ,’ she emphasised.

‘Yeah, that’s what that pile on my desk is about.’ He jerked his head in its general direction. Even with two stacks of folders threatening to topple, the desk was neater than it had ever been. ‘We’ll discuss that with the Parliament.’

She crossed her arms on her bare, duvet-covered torso. ‘Soon, this place will be beyond recognition.’

She was thinking about the government, the Throne, the architecture, the computers, some of the new policies, everything. 

‘Please, there still are Hell Loops and demons. The purpose is to punish sinners, is it not?’ he said, raising a pair of condescending eyebrows. ‘It’s you who have been straying, actually trying to gain _more_ souls when you’re running out of space. Think about that.’

‘Well you’ve always tried to get everyone to go Upstairs; we had to counter you somehow!’

‘But the way I understand it,’ Gabriel noted, ‘is that they judge themselves guilty or innocent, like we do. Nothing we do really matters. I read Crowley’s reports—he did lie in almost all of them, but he did point out that his and Aziraphale’s actions cancelled each other out.’ He sighed. ‘He might’ve had—a point.’

_Since when do you **ever** take the Serpent’s opinion into account?_

‘Hell is outdated, and so are its practices. And besides, Heaven doesn’t actually influence people towards the light anymore. Apart from the occasional blessing, we— _they_ generally leave everyone to it. It’s been some, what, 2000 years?’

She pretended not to notice the slip. He was grateful. 

‘Since Yeshua died.’

‘Yep. Though “died” is perhaps a bit of an overstatement. He was a—well, basically a Nephil, wasn’t he? Or something like. I never asked, just delivered the news. Anyway, he could control his mind and body like we do, so he just… healed and walked away. I believe one of the Virtues was there. Then he went Upstairs. He still gives lectures sometimes, I believe[4].’

He’d wondered where he’d learnt that, as he hadn’t been supposed to, but then, when reading Crowley’s paperwork and coming across a file about his time with the Son of God, he realised it must have been his work. He was the Healer, he was _family_ , and they’d spent quite a lot of time together, apparently. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

‘Christ and Antichrist,’ Beelzebub snickered. ‘But what about the Tempters? You can’t seriously—Gabriel, you understand nothing. This isn’t _Heaven_.’ 

‘Give me a single difference that isn’t the lack of Grace or colour scheme then,’ he said. ‘It’s almost pathetic how you fell right back into old habits after you rebelled against them. And you don’t even realise it, do you, but I’ve been Up There this entire time and really _do_.’

The Throne. Seven Princes. One absolute authority, or two. Ranks and circles. Maybe those were a bit more flexible, as he’d learnt, but demons had rebelled and Fallen, and in the end, they hadn’t known any better because they had been angels too. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, they kept following God’s Plan anyway.

Gabriel was perfectly alright with that. He was just pointing it out because it was funny and he could be the clever one for once.

Beelzebub scowled and thought he was an idiot. She often did. But underneath that, she knew that he was right and didn’t want to admit it. She said, ‘Demons are dissatisfied.’ They always were. ‘ _More_. I know you know that,’ she added.

‘Good. That means my plan on more effective torture is working,’ Gabriel said with a shit-eating grin. ‘Lucifer always said how horrible it was here, but then he didn’t even have the guts to change it. Obviously, I’m the better King here. They’re going to have to get used to having a competent monarch for the first time ever, that’s all.’

An odd look passed across her face. Then she blinked, put on a matching grin, and said, ‘I told you you were going to enjoy this. Heaven would never let you reach this kind of potential.’

He blew out his cheeks. ‘Suppose not. And it’s—starting to look a bit better, so I don’t even notice that I’m in Hell and not—’ He grimaced. That was a lie. He tried to, but he always noticed it. He noticed the way he looked, too, and that awful empty feeling inside. He quickly changed the subject before she picked up on it. ‘Are _you_? Enjoying it?’

‘Oh, immensely. Gotta love all that extra information filling my brain and having even more duties than before.’

‘You were willing to take over a few months ago,’ he pointed out. ‘By yourself.’

‘Yes. I also tried to convince you to take it,’ she huffed. ‘And anyway, I didn’t know what it was _like_. Now I do. There’s a difference between ruling and being the King.’

‘It’s almost incredible how things can change in the span of months. For humans it’s nothing, but for an angel…’

‘Demon.’

‘See, that’s my point.’ He ran both hands through his hair and then folded them under his head. He stared at the ceiling. There had been mould there three days ago; now it was clean. ‘I’d never thought that _this_ would be where we’d end up.’

 _Never?_ Beelzebub thought. _Never? How about before the War, when you made me a promise? You thought it then._ She turned around, petulant, and threw the duvet over her head.

 _I did_ , he sent back, reaching for her shoulder. _I did, but then Michael—and I couldn’t—_

He withdrew his hand. ‘Like you said, now I’m here, because Fate always has its way or something. Or maybe it’s God. That doesn’t matter anymore.’

_Then don’t say such bullshit. Accept it the way it is. You’re a demon. It happened; act like it._

‘Right,’ he scoffed. ‘Well, I’m going back to work. Things won’t do themselves.’

He got up, snapped himself clean and clothed, and switched his laptop on. He had a few unread emails from Dagon and Erik, and one forward from Azrael. He clicked on it and found Michael’s Heaven-wide memo about the events that had taken place last week and events that were to happen, together with the words, “Thought you should know. Also, now you know what backchannels are. P.S. I WAS NOT IMPRESSED BY ALL THOSE DEAD DEMONS, BROTHER. BE CAREFUL NEXT TIME.”

He gulped. He wasn’t intimidated by Death-Azrael. Not at all. And he wasn’t regretting anything; those disobedient fools deserved it. There’d have been riots otherwise. There still might be, but not so big; nothing he couldn’t handle. All the same, he wasn’t going to completely disregard that postscript. 

He turned around and glanced at Beelzebub, still a cocoon on the bed. She was right. She knew how it worked because she’d been there from the start and helped _make_ the laws. But he was also right because those laws were extremely old and this place needed a touch-up. If demons were to work effectively and efficiently, they needed a firm hand that would make them. He hadn’t been in charge of overseeing angels for nothing.

Well. Maybe this entire King business wasn’t so bad. It passed the time and gave him something to do. And once _Hell_ got less bad, it might even be, dare he say, _fun_. 

* * *

1 His puns could certainly use some work. We know. Everyone knew.[✿]

2 Technically, it was Hellhorse mail. His Messenger self shuddered. They could have a Fallen collect everything and send it by miracle, as well as sort and count later, but no, he had been informed that they were intending to load the ballot box—yes, only one, miracled to fit all the ballots because here it was apparently alright—onto a wagon and have it delivered by horse. That would take at least a week. And the manual counting another week. No, that simply wouldn’t do.[✿]

3 They immediately had to test it out. Thoroughly. Also, Gabriel barking orders at demons and being all demonically regal was quite the sight, and Beelzebub knew it. Gabriel knew that she knew it and felt a bit better about himself, which, in turn, made him even hotter, bless him. Good thing they were both Kings and could take some time off whenever. [✿]

4 He did, to those who would listen. One might think that everyone in Heaven would because it was _Heaven_ , but one would be wrong. His favourite audience were the extra-terrestrials who have never heard of him or the Bible—they didn’t want his autograph or ask too many questions about What Truly Happened, for one—and some of his angelic cousins. Other than that, he liked to check in on Adam Antichrist—virtually, of course, no interference permitted—and complain about all those books and paintings and films that portrayed him and his ideas all _wrong_. And yes, he knew how a tablet worked. Every member of the Host did, and come to think of it, most of the inhabitants did too, because Heaven went with the times, unlike the Other Side. Which might now change, actually. He was curious what Gabriel would do. If it went anything like that time with his mother…

He also liked to play chess with Vulcans, smoke pot and discuss all sorts of topics with Greek philosophers, and bake things for the children, but that was another story.[✿]


	91. Resolution

Michael had decided to talk to Uriel.

Admittedly, it was probably not one of her brighter ideas, if the mere fact that a conversation with Uriel had possibly led to the War once was anything to go by. But she needed to Know. She needed to hear them confirm it. That was foolish too, perhaps, because there was hardly any logic in it, but she was of the impression that it might give her some internal peace, and she’d be damned if she didn’t give it a shot.

The thing was, it was easier said than done. Uriel was smart. If they didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t be. Blocking sibling bonds wasn’t particularly difficult, seeing as everyone had been doing it since time immemorial, and that was precisely what they did.

Naturally, they didn’t pick up their phone even on the third attempt.

They were on self-imposed leave rather than a sanctioned mission, so their current position didn’t show in the system either. Last she heard, they were on Xandar, but that had been weeks ago. They could as well be elsewhere by now, and the Universe was _large_ —not to mention all the _other_ universes.

Well. There was one last thing for her to do: get ahold of Azrael and make them tell her. And she did have a few things she wanted to discuss with them too, actually, so she took a centring breath and moved to the sofa. She was vaguely aware of her sibling and reached for that awareness, for them, sending a strong thought through: _Azrael_.

Unlike with Uriel, it worked. A few seconds later, a deathly presence materialised in her quarters. ‘YOU SUMMONED ME?’ they asked.

Michael looked into their empty eye sockets and said, ‘Yes. But I don’t think there’s a need to be quite so formal. This isn’t a business matter.’

A woman-shaped being sat down next to her. That was infinitely better. ‘Please don’t ask for relationship advice. Otherwise, shoot.’

She subtly raised her eyebrows and didn’t comment on the relationship advice bit. Firstly, she’d never ask them; relationships couldn’t be further from their forte, despite their tendency to be friends with pretty much everyone[1]. Secondly, why did that even come up? There was no need. She wasn’t concerned about anything or anyone.

She smoothed the fabric of her trousers and said, ‘Someone brought to my attention a certain— _event_ that I wish to discuss with Uriel. Urgently. I thought you might know where to find them.’

‘I might,’ they said. They squinted at her. ‘Does it have anything to do with Lu?’

 _Lu_. They still called him that. Case in point.

‘It does. And the War,’ she replied. There was no sense in beating around the bush.

‘So you figured it out, didn’t you?’ they said, wrapping an immaterial wing around her back. ‘You learnt about their, and your, role in the Rebellion.’

‘I’ve always known it was me,’ she scoffed. ‘I’d started it. I didn’t like to think about it, but I didn’t forget _that_. But Lucifer did point out to me that since I’d gone to them for advice, it was really them who jumpstarted that sequence.’ A beat. ‘You knew.’

‘I did,’ they confirmed, solemn. ‘But it’s not what you think it is. The circumstances were a lot more complicated.’

She raised a not-so-subtle eyebrow this time. Three of her wings mirrored it, unconsciously.

They sighed. ‘It’s better if Uri tells you themself. If they’ll even be willing to have that conversation, that is, and if you’ll be willing to listen. It’s—it’s not my place.’

Michael nodded. She decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. ‘Alright. That _is_ why I called you here. Where might I find them, then?’

‘Betazed. You’ll find their exact location on your phone.’

Michael didn’t think she’d ever visited that planet. Met enough of its inhabitants in Heaven, sure, but there had never been any reason for an Archangel to go there. It was one of Uriel’s though. It made sense that they’d find refuge there.

‘Thank you.’

They gave her a knowing look. ‘Is there something else, Chael? I sense this isn’t the _only_ reason for calling me.’

‘This entire time, you’ve known what I—what _we_ did. You’ve known the truth about Lucifer,’ she stated. It really wasn’t a question. ‘You found it easy to forgive him and never stopped loving him. Was that the reason? Or was it—’ She drew in a breath and rephrased her inquiry. ‘I also know what happened, self-evidently, and I agreed to a truce of sorts as you’ve heard, but I still find myself unable to move on. Yet Amenadiel, Crowley, and you did. How?’

‘Haven’t you talked to all of us enough about it?’ they said, mildly amused. ‘It’s not black and white, contrary to what most angels and demons seem to think. Try to see things from his perspective, and remember the manipulation, Uriel’s actions. Remember the old days. How you used to work perfectly in sync like twins[2]. That’s still there somewhere. He’s not—he’s not evil, Chael. How could he love a human otherwise? He’s misunderstood. For aeons, he’s been doing a job he hated because it was his responsibility and Crowley wouldn’t do it, and he’d never _force him_. Only now he set himself free and saw beyond it. He’s Risen. Lu is who he is, but he’s still the Lightbringer, and he rebelled with noble reasons in mind. Which, as we know—not his direct fault. He still holds one hell of a grudge against God, but I can’t blame him for that one. You shouldn’t either. You _know_.’

She did. She’d found herself having a lot of doubts and questions lately, much to her dismay.

But it also allowed her to accept that there might be a different angle to things. As they said, the workings of the Universe weren’t black and white. They seemed to be very, very grey. Even colourful sometimes.

‘I suppose I see your point,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll think about it. And I’d rather like to hear what Uriel has to say about this. Your words intrigued me.’

‘You should also think about _yourself_ ,’ they pointed out. ‘As I’m sure Hamaliel told you. You’ve been spending a lot more time together again lately, huh?’

They were, weren’t they? She hadn’t even known how much she missed them. Or just having someone to talk to who wasn’t her sibling.

‘That is none of your business,’ she said primly.

‘Well, I just think it’s nice. You need someone to ground you and give you some insight. If you’d only realised that sooner… like, you know, right after the War…[3]’

Maybe things would have turned out differently.

‘Believe me, I know. I did think about that,’ she chuckled bitterly. ‘But the past is done. They told me that too. I can’t take any of it back, not the War, not this rather unfortunate relationship decision, not what happened to Heaven.’

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but she wasn’t going to reverse time all the way back and start over. She wasn’t stupid; that kind of thing, although possible, wasn’t exactly allowed. Even if it were, she probably wouldn’t do it. The pain was necessary. She knew that, she _did_.

Azrael patted her shoulder. ‘You fucked up. It’s alright. Not even angels are perfect and immune to being wrong. Free will, baby.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘There’s no need to call it as it is.’

‘Is there?’ they teased. Then they glanced at a non-existent watch on their wrist. ‘I’m afraid duty calls. Reach out to me again if you want to talk after you hear Uri out though, yeah? Especially if you don’t like what they say, or if they don’t tell you anything.’

She nodded, somewhat apprehensive. This didn’t sound good. Not at all. Azrael often enjoyed being mysterious, but all the same, there _was_ a cause for alarm.

‘I shall,’ she said. ‘Now I shall find them. Thank you, Rae.’

‘Aw, a nickname from _you_ ; I’m honoured,’ they grinned, and then they became slightly more skeletal and vanished right in front of her eyes.

Michael took her mobile, took a quick glance at the coordinates they’d miracled there earlier, and took herself there straightaway. She seemed to be in a city of sorts, not so different from Earth but for the plants and slightly different architecture. Uriel was definitely nearby somewhere. This close, she could feel them despite the block. She followed her instinct and walked until she found a bright blue river and then her sibling, training with a staff.

They stopped and whipped around to face her before she approached within ten yards of them.

‘Michael,’ they said, covering traces of surprise at seeing her. ‘What do you want? I’d concealed my location on purpose, believing it to be a sufficient indication of my wanting to be left in peace.’

‘Well, then I shall disappoint you by wanting to talk about the War,’ said Michael, walking towards them with hands clasped behind her back. She was on the alert though, ready to act if they tried to use the staff for more than training.

‘What about it?’ they asked, suspicious.

She braced herself and said, ‘The beginning.’

* * *

1 Azrael never quite got this whole love stuff. Bonds. Romance. Or, God forbid, sex. They never felt the need to get close to someone in that way. They understood that a lot of others did and wished them all the best, but seriously, don’t ask them for advice; they wouldn’t tell you anything and would probably be awkward about it to boot. Being nice to everyone and loving them were two different things. And besides… they knew how much it could hurt, in the end. They were Death. They’d seen it all.[✿]

2 Michael inwardly flinched. That again. Why did everyone seem to be under _that_ impression?[✿]

3 Okay, maybe they didn’t understand relationships, but obvious was obvious. Had been for a while. Why hadn’t Michael done anything about it yet? Why hadn’t she a long time ago? Yeah. They circled back to their initial thought: they didn’t understand relationships.[✿]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already borrowed planets from Doctor Who and Marvel, so here's one from Star Trek: TNG for a change :D
> 
> And since aliens are a thing but not known on Earth yet (apart from that one ship Adam brought), I'm guessing Star Trek could basically be canon in this, Federation and everything! Contact with alien life doesn't happen until 2063 after all. Just a thought. Fitting fandoms that could theoretically coexist within the same universe together is kind of a hobby of mine (as those who read twitter cryptids well know) so I think about it a LOT.


	92. My Conscience Is Clear

Uriel jabbed the staff into the ground and stared at her impassively, trying not to give away any of their thoughts. Rather successfully. Michael couldn’t guess what was on their mind.

‘You’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, haven’t you?’ they said in a tone that suggested it was highly improper of her. ‘What about the beginning then? And this better be worth my time.’

Michael steeled herself. ‘Do you recall a certain… conversation we’d had once, right before it started?’ Uriel didn’t say anything, so she pressed on. ‘I’d been concerned about Lucifer and his actions, and so I came to you and asked if you had any ideas as to what could be done.’

‘You did,’ they agreed, squinting slightly. They probably hadn’t given that a thought for a while either. Maybe at all. ‘How is this relevant?’

‘You directed me onto a path that led to the War,’ Michael stated, hoping her usual wall of indifference was still holding up admirably despite the storm that was picking up on the inside.

They replied with, ‘Naturally. I thought you’d realised this, knowing my work and my Function.’

The somewhat perplexed way in which they said it made her wings twitch. They didn’t even consider it important, most likely. She knew her sibling could be cold and merciless, yes, but this? Such a barefaced confirmation? She didn’t know what she’d expected. Well, this, probably, but it was no less striking to hear it. They thought she’d known!

Well. She should’ve. That was on her. And yet.

She wasn’t going to mention that it was Lucifer who’d realised it. She said, ‘I had not. And you know—the entirety of Heaven blames the War on Lucifer because he was the one who rebelled, which he did, but you have just confirmed that the idea was not born of his mind. The seed was planted by me, thanks to you. That fundamentally twists everything we’d thought was the truth, wouldn’t you say, Uriel? Our most recent history is based on a _lie_.’

And, as about everyone Upstairs would tell you, angels did not lie. Even if the lies were merely deliberate ignorance in disguise.

‘This is partially on you though, if we’re pointing feathers. Forget not,’ Uriel pointed out, rightly so. Michael wasn’t going to forget that—again—anytime soon. ‘And why, I’d almost think you’re outraged. It was _you_ who came to _me_ , and you were fairly enthusiastic about the idea back then. You’re growing sentimental, sister.’

She wanted to protest that remark but stopped herself. It wasn’t the point. ‘Things have… changed,’ she said evasively. ‘Why, though? What was your motivation? Revenge? I’d never—I’d never meant for it to go as far, and then it was too late.’

They spun the staff in their hand and circled her, eyes focused and calculating. They were mulling over what to say and how much. They didn’t seem very excited about the prospect of this conversation, as had been kind of obvious from the beginning, but Michael’s gaze could be just as insistent. She was a warrior. She could fight them, stab them in the stomach and see how they liked it the second time around. And she needed to know.

It _was_ too late. All those years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about it and had eagerly spread the official Satan rhetoric, because without the memories and the pain, that had been easy. But now, she wasn’t so sure anymore. She had no idea whether she was going to tell anyone about this or what she was going to do next, but at least for herself, she needed to know.

She looked them in the eye. ‘Or was it hatred? Because we both know how much you despise the Fallen.’

Something dark crossed their face.

‘I acted on God’s direct orders, and you don’t disobey those unless you wish to see yourself among the outcasts,’ they confessed after a minute of charged silence. ‘I knew that if I didn’t do it, God would find another way, and I’d end up among the Fallen as well. I wasn’t told what the moment would be and when it would come, but then you approached me, and I knew that that was it and directed you onto the very path that would lead towards the rebels’ downfall.’

They drew in a breath and seemed to take pity on her. Or perhaps they knew how stubborn she was and gave in. ‘But I will tell you this. I asked one question. I also wondered why, why our siblings and fellow angels had to go. I was given a warning, but He did answer me. He said that it _had to_ be this way. He’d considered sending them to one of the unsupervised universes or out on a mission that would take hundreds of thousands of years, but He knew that it would never have the desired effect and necessary results. Neither would telling them the truth. You can’t spoil the ending and expect the players to play the exact same game the exact same way, and that is something I know all about from experience. I never tell anyone what I did and where it will lead. The sequence must play out on its own. That’s why it’s inevitable. I wasn’t told why, but some angels had to Fall in order for the Universe to function properly without God’s constant input.

‘So yes, what I did, what _we_ did, led to Heaven’s greatest tragedy. He cast the rebels out, ripped out their Grace, and told them, here, you don’t love me, you don’t want to listen to me; go be on your own then, and make your own decisions. Here’s a dimension. Be free. He never said it was a punishment; it’s what _they_ made of it. They didn’t have to torture themselves and live in misery. That was all their own free will and their going back to following one person sitting on a throne, barking orders. Only Lucifer was angry and hurt, and look how that turned out. It was a wasted opportunity—and _that_ is why I hate them, why I wanted to fight them and show them what they’d lost and what they could’ve been but couldn’t even imagine. _That_ is why I can’t stand them, even Lucifer and Crowley who did eventually figure it out. It was too late. Well, that, and also I’d forgotten. Is that enough of an explanation for you, _Prince Michael_?’

The Prince in question needed a while to process this.

‘You had—direct orders. God had actually told you that.’

Well, that supported Hamaliel’s theory, in any case.

‘Yes. Have you forgotten that you aren’t the only Archangel here?’ They briefly raised their eyebrows. ‘My work is discreet, of course, and so was that piece of information. It was on a need-to-know basis, and as far as I was concerned, no one needed to know.’

‘Does Azrael?’

What they’d told her highly suggested that they did, as did their crypticness. She didn’t even know why she asked when she already knew the answer, to be honest. It wasn’t like one more confirmation could make the situation any better. Though it couldn’t make it worse either, so that was something at least.

‘They’re a neutral party and always have been. So yes, I told them one day, centuries later. They’re the only one I can trust round here.’

‘So you stole their sword and tried to kill Mother,’ she retorted. Inside, Uriel’s words burnt. She hadn’t expected that.

‘Mother belonged in Hell, no less guilty than the rest of them. She escaped and wreaked havoc in Los Angeles. I had to stop her.’ They let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘I wasn’t going to kill her if you must know; the sword was the only thing that could injure her and send her back, or somewhere else. Since when do _you_ care about her, anyway?’

‘I don’t. I was only pointing out the sword thing. Hamaliel reminded me of it recently.’

They squinted at her. ‘Right. I’m not sure if I believe you though. I’m not even sure if I still know you.’

‘I guess you do not,’ Michael said. ‘Because if you did, you’d know I always get my way, and back me on my new policies and go to the meetings instead of hiding out on random planets lightyears away, because resistance, in this case, is futile. Do you not trust me anymore?’

‘What have I _just_ said?’ was their sardonic reply. ‘You have kept things from me too, big things. And _Gabriel_ —I won’t even start.’

Gabriel had been one of the primary reasons for this extended holiday of theirs—and he hadn’t even Fallen back then. She cleared her throat. ‘You ah, know what happened, do you?’

‘That he’s the bloody King of Hell with _her_? Yes,’ they scoffed. Their fingers had been drumming against the staff, aching to do something; now their frequency quickened. ‘I also know about your little truce. Which makes me wonder why you’re so hung up on this, anyway. Aren’t you all good now, back to being proper siblings, bygones and all? Because it does seem that way,’ they said, contemptuous.

‘We’re not _good_. Far from that. But I can see that an injustice has been committed and seek to right it, or part of it, however difficult it proves for me and everyone else. We’re _angels_.’

‘Yes. Heaven’s army.’

‘Beings of light.’

‘So was the Devil. The brightest of us, even. Doesn’t mean anything these days.’

‘Perhaps it should. What other way is there? The War is not happening. We must accept that and move forward. Or, in this case, backwards.’

‘You really are a fool, Michael. And to think I held you in such high regard!’

‘Nothing quite so eye-opening as the cold hard truth, is there?’ she said, a thin smile on her lips. ‘And pain. So much pain. But I suppose you cannot feel it.’

They regarded her just as impassively as before.

‘Right. I shall leave you to think about it. And Uriel?’

‘What.’

‘I’d be careful if I were you. You know what happened to Gabriel. Amenadiel warned me, too.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. My conscience is clear,’ they said. ‘Is yours?’

Not exactly. But she was working on that. Heaven—Heaven needed her. Someone had to set things right, and it sure as Hell wasn’t going to be one of her siblings.


	93. Official Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while, whoops. I wrote the chapter two weeks ago and meant to post it that weekend but then Real Life Stuff kept coming up and taking longer than expected, and last week, I had my last three and most difficult exams, so the time I'd normally use to write and edit I had to spend studying. And if that wasn't enough, this week I got hit by the worst case of writer's block I've had since literally 2018 and just couldn't edit this stupid chapter..... *sigh* but here we are!

Michael took her phone and hesitated for a second, but she’d already made her decision, so there was no sense in stalling. She texted Amenadiel.

**Have you got Lucifer’s telephone number?** And then, **I’m assuming you’ve heard about Uriel.**

The reply came about two minutes later. **I have. Luci told me what you told him.** He also sent the number.

In case someone might wonder why she didn’t call this time, it was because the judgemental tone of his voice transmitted well even across the text, and she didn’t want to go through the details of that conversation all over again in person so that she could _actually_ hear it. Though before she could think better of it, she asked, **Did you know?**

**No, but I’m not surprised. By either of you. Have you talked to them?**

She sent back an affirmative and didn’t elaborate. Then she took a deep breath, in and out, and opened a blank text, where she copied that cursed number and typed: **You were correct. Uriel confirmed everything and said it was God’s order.**

She waited much longer this time. The Archangel Michael absolutely did not get nervous, alright, but this time, she was fairly close. What kind of a stupid idea was it, contacting him?

But, well. Something inside her told her that he ought to know. Even if he’d get all smug because she basically admitted that he’d been right about God all along, because this level of fuckery was absolutely incredible. Look, she even swore.

Which, right he was. Again, she could hear the text. **Michael! what a wonderful surprise, and by wonderful I mean absolutely horrible--but I did say it, so this is also very very satisfying to know, you have no idea. I was right all bloody along! god’s a bastard. Uriel’s a bastard too. to hell with them all.** Then he sent a devil emoticon. And a winky face. And another text. **how does it feel, hmmmm, knowing that I was right?**

She replied honestly. **Like a slap in the face.**

He sent a few more emoticons, which she wasn’t going to bother deciphering, but she was fairly certain he was excited about it. Or about something, at least. The conversation didn’t continue after that, and she was glad for it. She didn’t want to talk to him any longer than she had to.

No, there was another conversation she needed to have. One last. This time in person. She’d been putting it off for long enough. It had almost been a whole Earth week, and a lot could happen in that time if she’d learnt anything from the past months. If she could text the actual _Adversary_ with an update, she could descend into Hell and talk to the _fourth_ brother who sat on the Throne[1].

Another useless breath later, she willed the dimensions around her to shift and brought herself to the Infernal Realm, which wasn’t so much _down_ as _overlapping_ on a different plane of existence. That metaphor had escalated a long time ago, and no one bothered to do anything about it. It mattered not. What mattered right now was that she found it looking nothing like she’d expected.

The last time she was there, she’d walked down a dark, ashy street and entered an equally dark, damp, and dirty building, where she’d carried her pitcher of Holy Water and been glad that she didn’t need to breathe, because the air quality left a lot to be desired. This time, she found—a street like any other. Not as clean as those in the Silver City, but certainly less dark and ashy. There was nothing floating in the air, and the sky was overcast but _grey_. One could see without torches and streetlights, even.

Did Gabriel do this? She’d heard tales about what the Throne and the person sitting on it could do, in theory, but Lucifer never did, so she wasn’t sure it was possible. She’d never thought to inquire about it because it was irrelevant to her interests, but the thought occurred to her now all the same.

And then she belatedly noticed demons staring at her and headed towards the Castle, following the light, intuitive pull of the sibling bond which he, unlike _someone_ , wasn’t actively blocking. Wearing a white suit, she stood out. An angel in Hell was still an angel in Hell, even if leadership and infrastructure had changed somewhat. Not entirely welcome. About as much as a demon would be in Heaven, provided they wouldn’t burn upon setting foot on holy ground.

There were no tiled corridors this time. The Castle was carved from rock, ancient and unchanged, the perfect opposite of the sleek, white modernity of Heaven. Most demons she passed by were Fallen royalty, she could tell. She even vaguely recognised a few faces. But they were staring perhaps even more openly and viciously than those outside, so she gave them her iciest glare, continued on her way, and prayed to whoever that she wouldn’t find Gabriel in a, er, _compromising_ situation involving his bondmate.

It wouldn’t be the first time, but it _would_ be the first time in Hell, and, just, no. She valued the purity of her mind.

Thankfully, she did not. Her feet took her to his office—presumably—and before she could so much as knock, the door creakily swung open and revealed quite a different sight.

If she were breathing, her breath would hitch in her throat. The being in front of her was Gabriel, undeniably, but other than his light suit, nothing about him was the same. His hair was dark. The look in his eyes was dark and void. His aura, too, and it made something inside her lurch and want to get away.

Ironically enough, Crowley and even Lucifer felt perfectly normal to her. Angelic. She only caught up with that particular piece of information now, and all the more like a slap it felt, to use the earlier turn of phrase.

‘Michael,’ he said. ‘I did not expect you here. But then again, with what you’ve been doing…’ He stepped aside and bade her enter, exaggeratedly. ‘Come inside, _please_.’

She did. The last time they talked, she’d asked him about Beelzebub and told him about Crowley, and they’d ended up fighting. She’d had no idea how radically things would change since then, but now, barely three weeks later, they were in _Hell_ , and he was the _King_. Him. Gabriel. This used to be Lucifer’s office, and now it was his.

‘It’s been a while,’ she said, expression neutral. She looked around. It was quite a downgrade from his large office and personal quarters in the City, but being inside—were it not for the specifically demonic odour about the place, she’d never have guessed this was Hell, actually[2].

That was good. Interesting. Something.

‘Yeah. You gave me quite a few punches if I remember correctly.’ He gave her a smile that would’ve been falsely dazzling before but now had a spark of viciousness to it. She felt for the calming presence of her sword in its pocket dimension because she had no idea what this Gabriel would do.

He was a _demon_.

‘As did you,’ she replied.

His disconcerting eyes scanned her. ‘Look, is there a point to this? You come to exterminate me, or gloat, or just for a chat? Which I _don’t_ believe by the way. You’d definitely be the first.’

He was aiming for mockery, but there was something sad hidden beneath his words. He was. He was _alone_ , wasn’t he? A king, but still cast out of paradise and prepared to suffer the same fate his siblings once had.

‘I said I wanted to do better and try to fix things. That includes you. Just because you are—just because you’ve Fallen and switched places with Lucifer, it does not mean that you’re no longer my brother, or that you suddenly are equal to the Devil. And even if you were—’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again. Gabriel, I’m sorry.’

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Well, as Beelzebub said, it suits me.’

Maybe he was right. Looking at the office and what she saw outside, it did seem that way. He was remaking the place to his image, so it didn’t necessarily have to be so agonising for him to be here, as it had been for Lucifer.

‘Still,’ she said, thinking about punishments, self-actualisation, and the sword that had sent the latter sibling here. It wasn’t her fault this time, she told herself, and perhaps even believed it.

‘So what? What does that actually _mean_ , hmm? That you’ll come here once a decade, feeling _sorry_ and telling me about _your_ kingdom and reminding me that I lost it?’

‘You don’t… hate us, do you? You don’t want to destroy us in war. You want to come back,’ she said, because she knew him, but here was hoping it _was_ true.

He took a breath and opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it, snapped it shut, and eventually said, ‘Self-actualisation, right? It’s possible.’ He squinted at her. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?’

‘I, as de facto leader of Heaven, will not fight you, sovereign of Hell. Officially. If you wish so. Because I can’t bring myself to so much as think of the possibility, despite everything.’ Internally, she snorted at her own contradictory thoughts. She should have, logically, felt this way about Crowley and Lucifer too, right, because they were her siblings too, and the circumstances of their Fall were much much worse, but it took _Gabriel_ Falling for her to act. It probably helped that she didn’t forget him.

It did hurt too. But she reminded herself that it had to in order for it to get better, eventually, and in order for her to fix things. Again.

He measured her with his slightly disconcerting stare once more and contemplated what she said. She was basically suggesting something of a truce. A real one, because this wasn’t like the spoken agreement between her and Lucifer not to fight each other unless provoked. This time, Heaven and Hell _were_ at stake, because _he_ was the King now.

It still sounded strange in her mind, to be quite honest.

‘We exist side by side and not engage each other?’ he offered, a hand on his chin. ‘Just us, or angels and demons in general?’

‘Some regulations would probably be in place,’ she replied. ‘It’s about moving on, is it not? At least that is what I came to understand.’

He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Well, if you can move on with _Lucifer_ …’

‘There’s more to that story,’ she said, frowning and tired of doing so for the third time. ‘It’s not so simple. Lucifer is Lucifer. This is you. We’ve worked side by side for millions of years, and I cannot simply throw it away.’ She paused. ‘Neither can you, by the looks of things. It’s starting to resemble the City in here.’

‘Ugh, yeah, I could _not_ work in those conditions. That was one of the terms on which I accepted the chair: I get to make it my own, as it fucking well makes possible. It’s not my fault that the Devil ignored that very handy feature of the Throne.’

She didn’t dignify that with a reply. Instead, thoughts of Lucifer, Uriel, and that conversation insisted to be addressed because everyone kept mentioning her devilish sibling. ‘By the way…’ she began but then trailed off, hesitant.

He lifted his eyebrows. ‘What? What is it?’

Ah, well. She supposed the Universe would be none the worse if all the siblings did know about it[3]. ‘Did you know that it was Uriel who’d started the War?’

‘Ah,’ he said. The corners of his mouth dropped. It spoke volumes. ‘Well. Yes, I did. They pushed the first domino piece, so to speak.’

Michael wondered how, since Uriel had said that Azrael was the only one they’d told. Maybe _Azrael_ told him. Or maybe he did have it in himself to be occasionally smart and figure things out. Who’d have thought?

She hazarded another question, ‘And did you know that they were ordered to do so by God Herself, under threat of joining the Fallen if they failed to comply?’

This time, he visibly stopped dead in his tracks and blinked. ‘Errr, no? But what does it matter? The rebels clearly had to be punished, and we knew the order came from the Highest Authority.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes, but why is everyone taught that Lucifer incited the Rebellion then? He didn’t, not directly. He was manipulated into it. I could think of little else in the past days.’

‘Again, what does it matter? What’s done is done, and whether it was or wasn’t his idea is inconsequential in the long run. He did rebel. We cast him out. It’s not a lie per se.’

He was, in a way, right. That didn’t mean she had to like any of it. She didn’t like the fact that she was so conflicted about this in the first place, either, and that was quite an accomplishment. There had been a _lot_ of ambivalent feelings in her head lately, and it was somewhat frustrating.

‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ she argued, ‘and also—well, you’re the King of Hell, so I suppose you should know.’ She sighed. ‘It didn’t have to be a punishment; that’s only what _they_ made of it. The Fall meant that they were free of God’s influence, free to make their own choices, apparently. Uriel called it a _wasted opportunity_. I think you’re on the right track here, with these—changes.’

‘It didn’t have to be a punishment,’ he repeated dryly. ‘Well, I beg to differ, Michael, because what else would you call this awful, empty feeling in my soul where warmth used to be, hmm? This anger inside? The literal inability to touch anything holy?’

‘Crowley had gone to Heaven before he’d Risen or bonded with Aziraphale,’ Michael reminded him. ‘I’m beginning to suspect that our—aversion to holy and damned objects and places is not such a straightforward affair either.’

She walked on this ground, didn’t she? Her essence was crawling and her wings twitching with the urge to fly away, but her will was stronger. She had left and waited in the lobby the last time, but this time, she knew that she could endure being here because she had to. Perhaps conviction, or the subconscious, played a part in this game, too.

‘But the point still stands,’ he said, eyes dark and furious.

‘Does it?’ She gestured at the office and thought of the street outside. ‘But either way, this… obscured truth is a matter of Heaven and my authority and does not concern you anymore, so let us not talk of it any further. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I came to discuss the official agreement.’

‘Right. ‘Course. That.’

‘So? Are you in favour?’

Gabriel rubbed at his chin and then shot the finger in her direction. ‘Sovereign to sovereign, or sibling to sibling?’

‘Both[4].’

He thought about it, long and hard. It was obvious on his face. Then he said, ‘Alright, yes, generally I’m in favour. We’re not the enemies Lucifer and the two of us were, are we?’ He honest-to-God chuckled. ‘Why don’t you write something up and email it to me? I’ll go over it, correct it, we’ll see where it goes…’

For the first time today, her shoulders relaxed. She nodded. ‘I’ll get right on it.’

* * *

1 All her man-shaped siblings did it at least once, but no one else, she thought at the back of her mind, and found it interesting.[✿]

2 It was and wasn’t. There was that portal to the House, and some furniture he’d brought in from there, and one could even smell the forest if one focused enough. It helped with the Hell Smell. This kind of dimensional engineering probably wasn’t strictly allowed, but fuck it, he was the King and could do what he wanted.[✿]

3 She didn’t even know that Crowley knew, but he did, thanks to that call with Lucifer. Gabriel really was the last this time—and wasn’t that a turn of events?[✿]

4 She wasn’t a sovereign, God was, but she wasn’t going to point that out. It would ruin the moment somewhat.[✿]


	94. Something Important

True to her word, Michael sent Gabriel a preliminary draft of an official non-engagement agreement between Heaven and Hell the following day. It was 32 pages long and written in a refreshingly familiar style: formal, detailed yet concise, meticulous, without a single grammatical error or typo. Just the way he liked it.

Needless to say, demons did _not_ go to such great pains to be satisfyingly competent writers. They got the paperwork done, yes, but didn’t exactly care about form and substance in most cases. Not unless Lucifer looked it over, apparently, and that only concerned royal matters.

Well, _this_ King was going to make sure that changed.

He quickly added it to his ever-growing to-do list[1].

But back to the agreement. What Michael was proposing was, in no uncertain terms, basically a truce between the ruling parties of Heaven and Hell, extending to regulating interactions between planetary agents—hostile and non-hostile—permitting angel-demon relationships of serious nature—such as his and Beelzebub’s used to be before they were both demons—and establishing an official communication channel.

Gabriel wasn’t sure what to think, and neither did Beelzebub. A no-killing rule for representatives seemed a little far-fetched to her, seeing as they’d been ready to wipe each other out in a war just last year, but Gabriel didn’t feel like allowing demons to continue killing angels on sight. In fact, he was still considering recalling all agents and leaving the planets to fend for themselves. Then, on the other hand, he had reservations about the relationship bit, and she called him a hypocritical idiot and reminded him just _where_ the two of them were right now. And the truce, well.

He _had_ said he was in favour. He wasn’t going to lie—Michael was his sister, and he couldn’t imagine actually killing her. Or fighting her. Mostly because he had no doubts that she would defeat him should it come to a real fight; she’d defeated _Lucifer_!

That tiny part of him that was still loyal to Heaven despised the idea of leading hordes of demons in a war against angels. The larger part of him still struggled with figuring out whose side he was on. Had since he admitted to himself that he’d never wanted to fight Beelzebub either. Somewhere on a deep, almost buried level, he felt a lurking rage aimed at God, and when he recognised it, focused on it, he practically _itched_ to take the fight to Her and make Her see what She’d done.

Lucifer had done that, and started the first war[2]. Gabriel had hated him for it. Still kind of did, because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he didn’t. Which proved Beelzebub right, of course. He _was_ a hypocrite. He _understood_. But that didn’t mean he had to like any of the stuff that was going on, including the fact that he was starting to see Lucifer’s point and _hate_ his Father.

He was a demon, after all. Wasn’t that supposed to be the number one prerequisite for being one?

Feeling self-satisfaction radiating from his bondmate, he came back down to hell and focused on the document on his laptop. Beelzebub, sitting opposite him with her feet propped up in his lap, looked up from her own. Thinking of the agreement, she said, ‘I know. We should probably discuss this with the Lords. That’s what they’re here for, aren’t they?’

‘Yes, yes. I imagine they’ll have a lot of comments. Accepting this _would_ affect both realms for the foreseeable future, after all,’ he noted, running his hands over his face. ‘Can’t believe we’ve come to _this_.’

She snorted. ‘A year ago, we were preparing to fight in the final battle.’

‘You and I were on opposite sides.’

‘The fact that we aren’t anymore doesn’t change what happened in the first one,’ she said, her lips a thin line. She kept bringing that up lately, and he was tired of talking about it, or even thinking about it.

He sighed. ‘I know. But hey, maybe Michael was onto something here, with the whole… _moving on_ thing.’ His hands slapped the desk, making a decision. ‘Alright, let’s take it to the meeting room. Send the memo this time?’

Beelzebub did the mental equivalent of raising her eyebrows and then reached out to the minds of the Lords anyway, ordering them to come to the chamber at once. They didn’t even need the Throne for that, they’d found, what with their extensive experience with telepathy and division of power between two minds[3].

_I did the right call_ , he thought loudly enough for her to pick up. _Makes it a whole lot easier when there’s two of us_.

_If you’d Fallen back then_ , she sent back, with a wave of malicious glee, _Hell would’ve defeated the Host and become invincible aeons ago._

He shuddered at the thought. He had a lot of conflicting opinions on condemning her and breaking his promise, but right now, he was glad he did. He didn’t need to ask Uriel to confirm his suspicions that the Universe would be a whole other dimension of terrible had Hell conquered it.

She glared at him with an echo of _spoiling all the fun_. He got up, slammed the laptop closed, and shoved it under his armpit. ‘Let’s go, Your Majesty.’

Seriously. He still didn’t want to be reminded.

She and her flies followed him out and down into the meeting chamber, which was already in the process of being filled with grumbling demons and their animals and cups of coffee. Gabriel opened the laptop again and, with a snap of his fingers, hooked it up to the projector so that everyone could get a good look at the contents of the agreement. Beelzebub plopped down next to him[4].

They waited for about twenty minutes for a sufficient number of demons to arrive, because they just _couldn’t_ be on time, ever. He was still getting used to that, or the fact that not even he and his promises of slow torture could do anything about it[5].

The meeting itself took about five hours.

And they weren’t even _agreeing_ on anything, only talking about suggestions and supplements and possibilities, which he was busily writing down to add to the document later and send it back to Michael with revisions. The communication channel was ticked off no problem, but the rest of it wasn’t so straightforward.

It was the beginning of hour five when one demon repeated for about the fiftieth time that this would never have happened under Lucifer, because he’d rebelled for a reason, and he’d hate to make peace with angels.

That was when Gabriel finally snapped—literally—and froze the entire room in motion, barring Beelzebub and himself.

‘Now listen here, you little shits. First of all, we’re the Kings, and the fact that we’re having this meeting doesn’t mean you get to endlessly _question us_ ,’ he said, darting up[6]. ‘Secondly, Lucifer does have an agreement with Michael—or have you not heard? And anyway, _Lucifer_ is no longer _relevant_. Beelzebub here called all the shots the entire time, while he was busy partying in Los Angeles—or did you forget why you wanted to get rid of him? And, as far as I know, she’s here with me, presenting this treaty instead of calling for restarting the war.’ He gave the frozen demons his worst glare. Some of them blinked or looked away, but they couldn’t move. ‘And, you know, since we’re at it, let me tell you something about Lucifer. A little birdie told me he fucked you over with the whole eternal torture thing. You could’ve been free and had your own dimension to do with as you pleased, but instead, he established himself as an authority figure and caused all this mess, which _we_ now have to _fix_. I know, I know, Great Plan and all that, but that was all fake anyway, wasn’t it? No war was meant to be fought, or so it seems.’ He jerked his thumb at the screen behind him. ‘So this is what you get, ‘cause I am _not_ Lucifer. But see this. This form of management? It’s way past the point of no return now. So take what I’m offering or leave it—in which case it’s likely you’ll end up as smouldering stains on the floor. Capiche?’

No one replied. They couldn’t. Oh, the sweet silence—interrupted only by vague feelings and snippets of thoughts running through his head because that was just how Hell _was_ when you were the King.

He snorted. ‘He also fucked the Lilim over, you know, together with the Princes, actually. This little birdie’s name is Beelzebub, and she told me—well, thought at me—that they took their wings and convinced them that they didn’t have powers or souls although they _did_ so that they could train them into obedient little torture machines who wouldn’t be a threat to them and overthrow their parents like you all once did. You should thank him for _that_ , I guess—but then again, isn’t hiding a big secret a lie? And doesn’t he claim not to lie? So here ya go. He’s no good, or no bad, and he’s _not here_. So forget him and what he’d say. I say we make a deal with Michael. Or do you _want to_ keep getting yourselves murdered by Powers and vengeful field operatives?’

Having allowed another moment of quiet to stretch, he snapped his fingers once more and unfroze the demons.

‘No, of course not!’ someone called, and a series of stunned nods joined them. Then, all at once, the room erupted into the usual cacophony of demons shouting over one another. But Gabriel could make out several definite agreements that the treaty wasn’t such a terrible idea after all, or a too revolutionary one, so he got to revising the document, in purple font, and let Beelzebub take over.

Who’d have thought? Something—well, something Important might come out of this whole ordeal yet.

* * *

1 To his relief, it would be greatly helped by the computers, which had autocorrect and improvement suggestions built-in.[✿]

2 _Helped_ by Her, however, in the form of a direct order to Uriel, who then orchestrated a scheme to get Michael to meddle. Apparently. If Michael and what she’d said could be trusted. Now wasn’t that just messed up? It basically defied everything the rebels had stood for in the first place. If they did have free will, where did God’s influence end and it began?[✿]

3 It didn’t work with all of Hell, but demons that were within the borders of Dis? Perfectly reachable with a bit of effort and concentration. The Castle was made from the same ancient stone as the Throne, and Beelzebub had always been more connected to Hell than Lucifer was. It didn’t take long to learn that the connection between sovereign and realm could go both ways, at all times.[✿]

4 There were two chairs at the head of the table now, obviously.[✿]

5 Mostly because they were immune to slow torture by now. Their entire existence in Hell was slow torture. What they were _not_ immune to were improvements. Maybe Gabriel should try to give them _rewards_ for a change, then they _might_ teleport themselves straight to the meeting. But he wasn’t that far yet, because Heaven wasn’t exactly about positive reinforcement either, contrary to what people might think.

Michael and some of the Nine were beginning to work on that, bit by bit.[✿]

6 They were still questioning each other, for one. But Beelzebub did agree that _some_ form of a contract was probably necessary in these uncertain times, however iffy the two of them were about the details.[✿]


	95. Interlude II

There were whispers in Hell.

They echoed throughout the meeting chamber of the House of Lords, and from there, they inevitably spread further across the city of Dis. First only in the Castle, where walls were made of rock but seemed thin as paper sometimes, then among the legions when their commanders were a little too loud, and then in cafés, bars, crowded streets and corridors, and paperwork queues. Soon, even the most ordinary of office duty demons heard the whispers, and passed them on to their Lilim colleagues in the loops and behind other desks.

Long ago, something had been done to them, and the Princess had been responsible.

It had been an off-hand comment from Gabriel, one he likely paid no attention to, what with all the other ridiculous rules and laws he seemed adamant to torture Hell with, but one that was undoubtedly true. Beelzebub was his bondmate. They shared minds and essences. And if she had had a wing in it, he would know.

The thing was. The _problem_ was, Gabriel was nothing like Lucifer. Where Lucifer had issued empty threats, speculated, and brought in help to _convince_ the legions of Hell that rebellion was a fruitless effort, Gabriel made good on his word. Or bad, rather.

When Lucifer was King, everyone had feared him. His aura of command was no lesser than at the beginning, and he was an Archangel. The one to obey and never anger. When the pits of Hell had finally exploded a few months after the Nopocalypse and demons felt like they had a chance to do something about their miserable lives, he had charged in, full-Devil, and reminded them of all his damned glory and everything he was capable of.

It had not been enough, and another rebellion had soon followed. He had captured the leader of the Cult of Crowley and thrown the rioters into the deepest dungeon, but he had not killed. He had not shown _power_ ; he had shown some misguided form of _mercy_ , and then continued as if nothing had happened.

Until Gabriel came and relieved him of his post, and murdered thousands of demons with a snap of his fingers for _not kneeling_. Gabriel would not stand for rebels and conspirators and secret sects forming deep underground. He required order and, with Beelzebub by his side as an _equal ruler_ , did not hesitate to execute it.

But the _orders_ he had. Cleanliness? Vegetation? Modernisation? A treaty with Heaven? He acted more a demon than Lucifer ever had, and yet his loyalty seemed to remain Upstairs.

He was the sort of King who roused conflict in everyone.

Most demons disagreed with him, if not outright _hated him_. They also knew that he would quash any and all rebelling forces without a second thought and that they’d never stand a chance against him. Because he was not Lucifer, who, although absent and all too human as it turned out, still cared for his subjects in some way or another. The Fallen remembered the Times Before. How they’d loved their leader, the Bringer of Light, and despised his vicious siblings who wanted to deny them their freedom and force them to remain their Father’s servants.

One such sibling was vicious enough to have Fallen, and now he was here. Running Hell.

And letting slip pieces of information that sparked something forbidden: hope.

So, despite everything, in the northernmost corner of the city, in a storage space deep below ground, what had once been the Cult of Crowley kept meeting and growing into an organisation that soon reached even beyond Dis, ironically enough thanks to Gabriel’s modern technology.

Because the whispers were spreading.

Demons had meant to be free. Demons had meant to be their own people, receiving orders from no one, flourishing in a dimension of their own, outside of God’s influence. They shaped themselves. But their collective despair and heartbreak and pain after the rejection had instead forged them into what they were, and Lucifer’s rage had caused his light to go out and his promises for a better future to vanish. Now they knew this. And similarly—whatever differences they had with the Lilim, with the so-called Lesser Demons, the same had been done to them. In fear.

But Lilim were children of the Fallen and Lilith, a human. Same as the Antichrist, who had the power to destroy a world or recreate it with his mind, and who was one of the ten beings in all of existence who could sit on the Throne of Hell.

The point was, Gabriel said that Lilim had powers. They were, however, taught from the day they were born that they didn’t, so they hadn’t developed them. Their wings had been severed. Apparently. Because the Princes had been afraid that they’d try to seize power. But instead of treating them as equal, they had designated them Lesser, and the anger and injustice raged all the stronger now that they became aware of this than it would have if they had known since the beginning.

They could have had freedom. Now they would have to fight for it, and not only Lucifer and maybe Crowley with his threats emptier than his brother’s. _Gabriel_. Who had the Archangel Michael still on his side.

But demons were strong. They could plan and wait. They could slowly gain numbers—and, perhaps, with the Lilim on board, they _might_ stand a chance against Gabriel. If they could reach for those powers. If it was true. If they believed in their cause hard enough.

So they gathered in the shadows and spread whispers.

Their time would come.

**Author's Note:**

> **comments and kudos sustain me!!!**
> 
> you can find me on tumblr, either at @crowleyaj or @doctor-missy.


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